


Distance

by AquilaKate



Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:13:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquilaKate/pseuds/AquilaKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bringing down a dealer responsible for the death of a DEA agent requires weeks of deep undercover and personal sacrifice. Except Paige knows that if the rest of the house finds out exactly what she's risking, they'd never let her do it. How far will she go to keep her case open and her secret quiet as she gets further in over her head?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

"Believe it or not," Paige calls, rinsing conditioner out of her hair. "When I was a little girl, I never pictured myself caring this much about what a PCP dealer thought of me."

She hears Charlie snort from the other side of the shower curtain, where she's perched on the bathroom counter listening to Paige lay out her plan for the evening. Time got away from her earlier and she's running late, so now she's multitasking, briefing Charlie and grabbing a quick shower before she heads to the club.

"What, you don't think he's dreamy?" Charlie teases.

"Luis Enos is a snake," Paige corrects. "And we've been after him for weeks now."

"Did you know the agent that died? Mark Willis?" Charlie's outline flips through the partial file that she left on the counter for her.

A few weeks ago, someone hopped up on Enos's personal brand of PCP had gone into a rage when confronted with a federal warrant and beaten a DEA agent to death with his bare hands. It's all anyone talked about at headquarters anymore. Paige had only known Mark in passing, but he was good back up when she needed a tactical team and seemed like a genuinely good guy.

"Sort of," she admits. "Not really."

She turns the water off and sticks her hand out through the curtain, feeling for a towel. When she finds one, she slips it back through the curtain and ties it around herself. Charlie is still focused on the file when she steps out of the shower onto the bathmat. "Does he have any priors?" she asks frowning.

"I don't know yet. The name seems to be new. I have someone at the agency looking into past aliases."

"Until then, you're right," Charlie agrees. "Girlfriend's probably the best angle."

They're in the doorway when the power flickers and dies, giving in to the rainstorm that's been threatening to knock it out all day. Paige groans. "My hair is wet."

"Come downstairs while I still have enough light to do your makeup. We'll figure something out," Charlie chuckles.

Paige nods, stumbling over a shoe that Johnny left in the middle of the hall. She chucks it at his door and goes to change, glancing mournfully at her hair dryer. This feels like a bad sign.

Johnny wolf whistles loud enough to wake the dead when she comes down the stairs in her outfit for the night. She stomps on his foot on her way to where Charlie has her make up bag spread out on the coffee table. Everyone's gathered in the living room where the tall windows are letting the most light, looking kind of lost without their technology.

"Big house like this doesn't have a backup generator?" Mike asks. "What do we do now?"

Briggs shrugs. "Drug lords aren't known for their personal responsibility. Go get something out of the game closet."

"We have a game closet but we don't have a generator?"

"Drug lords love Monopoly," Johnny says somberly.

Rolling her eyes, Charlie turns her attention back to Paige's case. "Is your phone charged?" she asks, leaning back to see if she's applied the eyeliner straight.

Unable to move without messing up Charlie's work, Paige waves at Jakes, who's nearest to her phone, silently ordering him to check.

"Thirty percent," he reports. Charlie makes a face and glances at Paul.

"I'll go with you," Mike offers. "I'm fully charged."

Not exactly how she wanted to do things this evening, but she's pretty sure Charlie and Briggs were about to either tag along or tell her to put it off until another night, so she'll take what she can get. "Fine, you can come."

"I'll drive!" Johnny announces.

Paige sighs.

Now it's a group activity. Perfect.

* * *

Mike and Johnny disappear into the crowd seconds after they enter the club, Mike protesting and muttering something about _protocol_ and Johnny dragging him by the shirt and countering with something about _drinks_. Paige shakes her head and tucks herself into a corner to surreptitiously look for her man. It doesn't take long to spot Luis Enos seated in a corner booth, enjoying some expensive bottle service, surrounded by four or five lower level dealers that serve as his entourage.

The other men prove themselves to be very protective of their boss, turning three perfectly attractive women away from the table in the short time she's been watching. Paige nervously tugs at the hem of her dress. She's a reasonably confident woman, but she's not arrogant or stupid. There's a very good chance that she won't be getting anywhere near Enos tonight.

With her eyes still on the corner booth, she feels someone press themselves against her side, hot breath on her neck. Without looking, she scowls, thinking wistfully about the beat down she'd lay on him if she weren't very carefully not attracting attention to herself. But when she whirls around to give him a quiet, discreet piece of her mind, it's the one and only Mike Warren, smirking like he knows exactly what she's been contemplating. Cocky bastard.

Johnny watches from the side, nose crinkled in distaste. "Should I like, give you two a minute?"

Paige rolls her eyes and nods across the dance floor to where Enos is sitting. "That's my guy."

As they're watching, Enos's men send another woman packing with just a shake of their heads. Luis doesn't even look up.

Mike whistles lowly. "That was harsh. Sure you're going to be able to get past the goon squad?"

"I'll never know if I don't woman up and go over there," she says shrugging. With a tug on each of their sleeves, she repositions them in front of her, shielding her from view. Paige grabs for Johnny's drink and holds it under her nose. Harsh and warm, clearly alcoholic but not so strong that the smell would make her sick. Some kind of spiced rum maybe?

She dips two fingers into the glass, ignoring Johnny's sputtering protests, and dabs the alcohol on her pulse points and along the curve of her collarbone, applying it like perfume. When she's done, she reeks like someone who's been drinking heavily. There's still a swallow left in the bottom of the glass, and she gulps it down. Certainly not enough to feel any effect, but enough to let Luis smell it on her breath. Drunk and vulnerable may very well be his type.

Except, he's been turning away plenty of drunk, vulnerable, ready and willing women tonight. Paige frowns. Walking straight up to him is not going to get her the kind of attention that she needs.

She hands a sulking Johnny his empty glass back and snatches Mike's drink out of his hand. "I'm gonna take this over there," she says, using the glass to gesture towards an empty barstool near Enos and his gang. "And you're going to come over and hit on me."

"That's cool," Johnny calls as they both walk off, Paige to her place at the bar and Mike to take a lap around the club before he approaches her. "I'll just wait here. You know, keep an eye on things."

Once she's in place, she can see that her instinct was right. Luis doesn't look in her direction as she passes by. It's going to take a little finagling to get in with him. She continues to watch him out of the corner of her eye until Mike sits down next to her.

"Hey stranger," he whispers, looking like he's not sure how much faking he should actually be doing. Paige smiles.

"He can't hear us," she promises. "You just have to look like you're coming on strong."

Mike leans in closer, and she winks and crooks her finger until her lips are nearly at his ear. "In...forty seconds maybe, I'm going to pour this drink on you. This is your permission to make a scene and call me every unflattering name in the book."

He scoffs and shakes his head. "Any reason you didn't have Johnny do this?"

"I thought about it," she admits. "But you got a little handsy earlier, and Johnny's been known to do terrible things to our toothbrushes in the name of revenge."

With that, she dumps his gin and tonic down the front of his shirt.

The crowd around them whistles and howls when he goes off at her, but Paige just erupts into a peal of laughter, some of it genuine because Mike is the epitome of a white boy from DC when he swears. She doesn't have long to enjoy it though because as the commotion dies down, she can feel eyes on her from the direction of the corner booth. Suppressing a grin, she scans the club, eyes raking over Enos and continuing on without a beat. She manages to confirm that she has his attention without showing any interest, which was exactly her goal.

A quick glance tells her that Mike has returned to Johnny's side on the other end of the club. Johnny seems thrilled by the show they've just put on, and she knows that he'll be ribbing Mike the whole way home. Now, however, he's work Johnny, who has to keep all his attention on her and the case. Still, he winks and smiles at her.

"Miss?" Someone taps her on the shoulder, and Paige turns around to see one of Enos's men standing behind her. "My friend would like to invite you to join him."

For the first time, she purposefully makes eye contact with southern California's premier PCP supplier. Luis Enos smiles cordially. She looks back and forth between him and his boys and forces a laugh. As expected, Enos raises an eyebrow, and the man at her elbow starts to look nervous.

"No really," he says, helping her down from her stool. "He insists."

When she's seated next to her target, her escort returns to his place in line, blocking most of her view of the rest of the club and isolating her with Enos.

A finger runs along her chin and tilts her head so she's staring straight at him. Bastard can't stand being ignored.

"Something is funny?" Luis asks softly. She's normally very good with accents, but doesn't immediately recognize his. Did she read it in his file?

"No, it's just…" Paige laughs again and looks down, playing embarrassed at having been caught. "It's just that your friends seem to think you're pretty special."

Enos bristles at the slight, but remains the consummate gentleman, still smiling politely. "You don't think I'm special?"

Paige shrugs. Even without a verbal answer, she's sure he can read it all over her face. _No_. "Do _you_ think you're special?" she asks casually.

He pauses, looking officially irritated with her. Which is perfect because the more he wants to put her in her place, the longer he'll keep her around trying to do so. And the longer she'll have to dig something up that will put him away.

"I suppose I would know better than you would," he says finally. "I'd offer you a drink, but I think you've proven that you can't be trusted with it."

"You saw that then?" she asks grinning. "Well, we can't all have a team of bodyguards to ward off unwanted advances. Some of us have to fend for ourselves."

Something changes in his face. He drops the fake smile and his eyes harden as his face tightens in muted anger. His pride's been offended, and men like Enos don't take kindly to that.

"Let's go for a walk," he says, rising to his feet and gripping her upper arm tightly. Paige follows, mostly to keep him from ripping her arm out of socket. She shifts slightly in his grasp, but it doesn't give.

Luis leads them out the side door and into the alley, something that would so _not_ be happening if Mike and Johnny didn't have her back. The rain has stopped, but the temperature is still significantly lower than usual. It's not until the cool air hits her skin that she realizes she's flushed and hot from either adrenaline or anxiety. Maybe a little of both. The rough brick scrapes against her skin when he pushes her up against the wall, and she wishes that she'd worn a dress with more of a back. His free hand closes around her other arm and clamps down.

"Make no mistake," he says lowly, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "I can hold my own. But I'm a very important man, and it's wise to surround myself with people that recognize that."

Paige smirks. "Special and important, huh?"

She barely has time to rest her head against the wall before his lips crash down on hers, no doubt fueled by the desire to _shut her up_. He releases one of her arms, and briefly she marvels at just how sore it is before reminding herself to feign interest and retaliate. Her hand brushes through the back of his hair and she tries not to wince at the oily hair gel that leaves her fingers feeling sticky. His lips dip down towards the strap of her dress, and she deems it time to put a stop to things, jabbing a shoulder into his chest until he gets the hint and backs off.

"Exactly how far do you think I'm going to go in a dirty alley with a man whose name I don't know?" she asks coolly.

"Of course," he says hollowly, breathing heavily. He's smiling again, previous annoyance seemingly forgotten. "Of course. I'm Luis. Luis Enos."

She nods, resisting the urge to rub some relief into her aching arms. "Paige."

"Paige," he repeats. "Just Paige?"

"For now," she says, forcing a smile.

"Well, Miss Paige. I would like to see you again."

He kisses her again, this time taking her bottom lip between his teeth. There's a sharp pain and a salty taste that usually signals blood, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. The smirk on his face tells her that it was no accident. He takes her number and insists he'll remember so it won't be necessary to write it down. Paige recognizes it for what it is – a head game designed to make her doubt herself and his investment in her. She'd be impressed if she wasn't so disgusted.

And then she's alone in the alley. Her fingers reach up to prod at her lip and come away red.

It's been a long time since undercover work has given her this sick sensation in her stomach.

She's still trying to figure what feels so inexplicably wrong when Mike bursts into the alley, Johnny hot on his heels.

"You okay?" he asks a little breathlessly. "You're bleeding."

He presses the pad of his thumb against her lip, directly on top of the split. The pressure causes a shock of pain that helps to clear her head.

"I'm fine," she says, surprised to realize that for a minute there she thought she wasn't. Had she been afraid? This kind of recon definitely fell on the less dangerous side of the spectrum of what she usually has to deal with, but for some reason her gut is churning, instincts screaming something that she can't quite interpret. "Fine."

Johnny clears his throat and knocks Mike's hand out of the way. "Man, that ain't sanitary."

He replaces Mike's thumb with a cocktail napkin from his pocket, instructing her to purse her lips around it until the bleeding stops. "Just, uh, try not get the phone number part all bloody."

Paige rolls her eyes and smiles, slipping into place between the two of them as they head back towards the car. It's heating up again. Southern California never stays cool for too long. Still, even when Johnny slides his jacket over her shoulders, she feels a chill that she can't quite shake.

* * *

"Teaberry, Johnny? Really?"

"Dude, we brought you _ice cream_ ," Johnny groans, throwing an arm over his eyes and reclining against the arm of the couch. "How can you be so pissed off about ice cream? Seriously, man."

Charlie smirks. "He's just pissed that he lost at Jenga three times tonight."

Probably Jakes is more pissed that he had to play Jenga in the first place, but Paige keeps that thought to herself, taking a bite of her own ice cream as she watches the others.

Jakes scowls. "Exactly what about me screams 'teaberry'? Explain it to me."

"Johnny bought it," she says apologetically, trading her tub of peach for Jakes's teaberry because she likes both and she'd rather not listen to this for the rest of the night. Jakes smiles in thanks. "I was in the car, so I wasn't supervising."

It's probably too late to be ingesting this much sugar, but no one seems to notice or care. The other three spent their night playing board games by candlelight (Charlie's decision) until the power came back on, a few minutes before Johnny, Paige, and Mike returned with their midnight snack. So they're eager to hear about any actual undercover work that took place while they were playing Monopoly.

"Was your new boy toy as dreamy in person?" Charlie asks grinning.

Paige shrugs. "He bit me," she complains. There's still a spot of dark blood on the corner of her swollen lip, which she medicates with a spoonful of cold ice cream. When it starts to melt, she pulls it away and slurps it down. "Who does that?"

"That's no way to impress a lady," Briggs says mildly, glancing sideways at Mike.

Mike nods slightly. "Seems to have a temper on him. Right, Paige?"

She considers that for a second. The easy answer is yes. Mike mentioned in the car that they'd watched Enos pull her out of the club and it looked as rough as it felt. But he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He was rough because he wanted to be, not because he was losing control. "He's intense, I guess."

Her arms still sort of hurt. She puts her ice cream down, freeing her hands to remove Johnny's jacket and check for a mark.

"Keep me updated," Briggs says finally. "If he starts having trouble keeping his hands to himself, we'll shut the whole thing down."

Her hands stop short and drop into her lap. Unconsciously, she draws the jacket tighter around her. "We can't shut it down," she says incredulously. "The shit he's selling is taking people over the edge. We've already lost one of my DEA guys."

Everyone has turned their attention to this conversation now, interest drawn by the urgency in her voice. Paul looks at her oddly, clearly not sure why she's taking this so seriously. "Then we'll go at him from a different angle," he says slowly. "It will take longer yeah, but if it's what we have to do, we'll do it. Besides, this is all hypothetical, right? He isn't giving you any trouble?"

It's quiet now, and all eyes are on her. She feels flushed again.

"No," she agrees softly. "You're right. I'm sure it won't be a problem."

Conversation resumes, but Paige stays quiet until she says goodnight and retreats towards the stairs. Charlie is watching her carefully, a thoughtful look on her face, but Paige doesn't acknowledge her. In the bathroom, she shrugs Johnny's jacket off and inspects her arms in the mirror. Dark red splotches circle her upper arms, already purpling into what are sure to be nasty bruises.

They're not life threatening. Certainly not bad enough to warrant closing her case. But still, Paige gets the idea that she should keep them to herself. Just in case.


	2. Two

She's up half the night, unable to turn her mind off long enough to let it rest, so she's understandably cranky when someone knocks on her door at some ungodly hour of the morning. Being as accustomed as she is to this kind of wakeup call (which happens all too often in a house of six federal agents with no concept of appropriate roommate etiquette), she relies on an old classic and uses silence to indicate that someone is _still sleeping_ in here.

The knocking persists.

Paige groans and checks that her sleeves are still covering the ugly, purple splotches on her arms before reluctantly shouting her permission to enter.

"It's like, 10:30," Mike says pointedly, closing the door behind him with that infuriating smirk on his face. She glares and rubs the sleep out of her eyes. He's probably been up since six or some other equally ridiculous time, and screw him. She's an adult, she can sleep as late as she wants. Except, now that she thinks about it, she actually does have things to do today, so she should probably get up and get a move on.

Still, screw him.

The partial file she has on Enos is laying open on her desk, and Mike scoops it up as he walks past and sits down at the foot of her bed. Without permission, he starts to flip through it. Paige bristles. "Was there something you needed?"

He looks up and smiles. "Nope."

She sighs and waits.

He's been there and silent long enough for her to consider grabbing a few more minutes of shut eye, when he finally gets to the point. "I took the liberty-" "You always do." "-of asking around about your case."

When he inevitably starts to trail off, entranced by the case file, she whistles for his attention. "And?" she prompts.

" _And_ I think I might have found something," he says. "The bureau cut ties with a CI that suddenly can't keep his head on straight. Started giving bad information, no showing for important meetings, that kind of thing. Says he's stuck on this new kind of dust that makes him, quote 'feel like a superhero and also kind of an elephant'."

Yeah, that sounds like her stuff. Which unfortunately means it's officially time to get up and work. "You think you can get him to flip on his dealer?" she asks groggily, carefully stretching without letting her sleeves ride up too high.

Mike shrugs. "He's worked with the feds before. Best he can give us is a street level dealer, though."

The DEA taskforce working this before her theorized that there were at least four degrees of separation between Enos and his buyers. Paige makes a face. Street dealers were a long way down. Still, it's something. More than she had ten minutes ago anyway.

"Thanks," she says reluctantly, not entirely willing to admit that he had a good reason for waking her. "Are you going to work it, or do you want me to call in a favor with someone at the DEA?"

"I'll take it," he offers looking at her oddly all of a sudden. This is one of the downsides to talking shop with a coworker while she's still in her pajamas, she thinks, sighing as she tries to figure out what sleep induced deformity he could be staring at. Bedhead, maybe?

"Your lip is still swollen," he points out, putting his hand up like he'd like to inspect it for himself before thinking better of it and putting it back down. "He really got you, huh?"

Oh. "No big deal," she says shaking her head as she runs a hand through her hair. "Earning my hazard pay for the week."

He still looks uncertain, and she decides that it's probably better to put an end to this conversation before he takes it somewhere she doesn't want to go. "I should get ready to leave," she hints, nodding towards the hall. "I'm running some surveillance on Enos today."

"Already?" Mike asks. "You aren't just going to wait for him to call?"

Snapping her fingers, Paige gestures for him to hand the file over and stores it in her nightstand. She's not entirely comfortable with how close he plans on getting to this. Being the only DEA agent in the house has its advantages, including a certain amount of independence with her cases. Briggs has some authority as head of the house, but he rarely exercises it if he doesn't have to. And the others tend to give her space to deal with DEA business unless she explicitly asks for help.

Apparently, no one told Mike.

"That would take too long," she explains. "A guy like Enos is going to want to see me dangling on the hook for as long as he can swing it."

Something about that piques his interest, she can tell by the way he tilts his head. "A guy like Enos? What's he like exactly?"

There isn't any part of her that even kind of wants to answer that, so she's glad when Johnny comes barging in, looking for his jacket and the wallet he left in the pocket. She directs him to where the jacket is hanging on the back of her desk chair and ignores Mike's curious eyes that can't seem to move off of her face.

Johnny retrieves his wallet before the scene on the bed catches his eye and he watches with what can only be described as glee. "Are you two having fun without me?" he asks, grin spreading slowly across his face. He takes a step towards them, and Paige knows what's going to happen before it does. "No!" she yells sternly, pointing at the door. "Everyone off the bed!"

Completely ignoring her warning, Johnny climbs up next to her, putting his sandy feet all over her clean bedclothes. Mike laughs. "Mind if I tag along today?"

She does, but she doesn't have a good reason/excuse for that, so instead she says, "Sure."

"Where are we going?" Johnny asks cheerfully, smiling at Mike and wrapping an arm tight around her shoulders. His fingers dig into the bruises through the thin cotton of her t-shirt, and Paige tries not to wince.

Mike doesn't answer, eyes still on her as he gets up off the bed. "I'll be ready in ten," he says, sparing Johnny half a glance before he goes back to studying her face.

"Me too!" Johnny announces. Mike shakes his head and closes the door behind him.

Paige groans, burying her face in her knees. She tilts her head to look at Johnny, who is cracking up at the tension he created. "I think I might actually hate you," she says dejectedly.

If possible, Johnny laughs harder. "You love me," he croons, slobbering kisses down her temple and cheek as she struggles to escape. When he doesn't release her after a few seconds, she licks the palm of her hand and holds it near his face, something that never fails to get him to back off.

It works, and he jumps back, grimacing in disgust. Paige smiles. 

She's still got it

* * *

The idea behind today's surveillance was to scope out potential locations for where Enos's people actually do the cooking, but that isn't working out so well because they followed him from his home to this office complex two hours ago and he hasn't left since. So essentially, two hours crammed between Mike and Johnny in the bench seat of Mike's truck, which was definitely not made to fit three people, sitting half on top of their thighs because no one will _move back_ like she told them to, in the scorching heat – all for nothing.

Well, that's not entirely true. They've been taking pictures of anyone entering the building, so somewhere in there, they might have caught some of Enos's associates on camera. And being stuck in the middle like this means that she has full control of the radio.

So, there's that.

"Yo, P," Johnny says, rubbing his eyes. "I mean this in the nicest way possible, but are we sure this guy sells drugs?"

"Positive, Johnny," she growls because it seems like there's a lot of complaining coming from someone who invited himself on this little excursion.

On the other side of the parking lot, a man is getting out of his car, and she turns her attention to him, waiting to see if he's headed towards their building or the food truck next to it. He enters the office complex, and she snaps a picture.

"Oh, look! Some guy is going into your boyfriend's office!" Johnny cries, feigning excitement. "Or, you know, he could be going into one of the ten other freaking offices in that building!"

She scowls and reaches across him to open the door on his side. "So get out and go home! Be my guest."

Johnny slams the door closed and pouts, resting his head on his crossed arms and his arms on the steering wheel. To her right, she can hear Mike snickering at their squabble and thinks that she wouldn't mind if he got out and left too. She can't work properly when she's so irritated.

Logically, she knows she's in the right here, but Johnny heaves a sigh and she starts to feel a twinge of guilt.

"Why don't you go grab us something to eat?" She takes a folded twenty out of her pocket and tucks it between his head and the band of his hat. "We'll wrap up after lunch."

Johnny grins and twists to grab the bill out of his hat, then he's gone in a flash, running towards the food truck with renewed energy.

"That was strangely nice of you," Mike compliments.

Paige shrugs. "Not really. I took the twenty out of his wallet last night. He'll figure it out eventually."

With only two people in the car, the heat isn't as stifling, but she still wishes she could take her sweatshirt off and sit in just her tank top. Things between her and Mike are sort of uncomfortable since they were interrupted that morning, and without Johnny as a buffer, it's more noticeable. They sit in silence until finally Mike clears his throat.

"Something on your mind?" she asks, side-eyeing him from behind her sunglasses.

"What's he like?" He doesn't need to clarify that he's talking about Enos.

She bites her lip, pausing to take the time to choose her words carefully. "He's…controlling is the word, I guess. Manipulative. In his mind, men are men and women are like, playthings."

Snorting, she shakes her head. "Don't get me wrong, he thinks he's better than most men, too. But it's mostly women. So anyone that challenges that or doesn't give him the respect he thinks he deserves…he has to put them in their place. His pride won't let him do anything else."

Maybe she's said too much because Mike's looking at her like she's a case that he needs to solve, and that's the last thing she needs right now. She picks up the camera and takes a few unnecessary shots of the building's entrance, just for something to do with her hands.

"Doesn't seem like your type," he says quietly.

Paige swallows, looking down at her camera and flipping through the pictures she just took. "Yeah, well." She shrugs. "We're all young and stupid once."

That's still hanging in the air when Johnny hops back into the truck and distributes their sandwiches and drinks. "I…uh, told them to go easy on the mayo."

It's the closest thing to an apology she's going to get, so she takes it and knocks her shoulder into his. "Thanks."

She can tell that Mike's still spinning what she said around in that busy little blonde head of his and tries not to look at his expression, not sure she wants to know what it will tell her.

Something catches Johnny's eye just after he takes an oversize bite of his lunch, and he grunts and points out the windshield.

"Johnny," she groans, wincing in disgust. "Swallow and use your words!"

He does. And for good measure, he grabs the top of her head to physically aim her eyes where he wants her to look. "Isn't that your boy?"

" _Son of a bitch…_ "

It is. Standing in line at the food truck, looking completely out of place with his suit and tie.

"Johnny, come on," she orders, climbing over Mike's lap to get out the passenger door. "We're having a lunch date."

She hops down on the pavement and tugs her rumpled clothing into something less of a mess.

"What's the plan here?" Mike frowns. "What are you doing?"

"Forcing his hand." She grins and winks before slamming the door and running to claim a table that's smack dab in the middle of the route Enos will have to take to get back to his building.

Johnny sits across from her and hands her the sandwich and soda that she left in the car. "What's our game?"

She considers that, trying to decide how much anger she wants to incite. "Friends," she decides finally. "With some innocent flirting. Leave the possibility of something more on the table."

"You mean, uh…" He flashes her a wide grin and pulls his sunglasses down to his nose. "Exactly like us in real life?"

"No," she says sternly. "Not at all."

He puckers his lips and makes obnoxious kissy faces at her, kicking her under the table.

Scowling, she tries to make a serious face at him but can't maintain it and ends up masking an unladylike snort of laughter with her soda can.

A hand claps down firmly on her shoulder, too close to her neck to pass as casual or comfortable. Tension runs down her spine and out towards her shoulders, as she stiffens, watching Johnny do the same. As if summoned by the worst possible moment for him to appear, Luis Enos is standing at her side, looking decidedly pissed.

"Paige," he greets, smiling woodenly. "I was hoping to see you again, but I never thought it would be this soon."

She moves in her seat, twisting uncomfortably to meet his eyes. "Luis. I didn't expect to see you here."

He eyes Johnny pointedly before looking back at her. "Clearly."

"This is my friend Johnny." She puts some extra force behind _friend_ , irritated by the conclusions he's jumping to even though she's the one who laid out the breadcrumbs to lead him there.

Johnny holds out his hand to shake, but Enos just nods. "I see." His hand slides higher up on her neck, and she may be imagining it but it seems like he's pressing _harder_. "Do you have a lot of friends?"

His nails are digging into her neck. She tries to hide a flinch, but Johnny must see it because he's instantly agitated. "Hey man, she doesn't want you grabbing at her like that."

She lightly kicks his leg under the table to tell him that she's got it under control. "A few good ones," she says vaguely, craning her neck to push his hand into a less restricting position on her collarbone. "And it's not like I can just sit around waiting for you to call. No matter how _special_ and _important_ you are."

Enos smirks. "Fair enough," he grants. "We'll have dinner tonight. My secretary will call you with the details."

She nods, though it wasn't really an offer as much as an order. "That sounds nice."

It doesn't. It really doesn't. An entire meal alone with Enos, when she's sure that she's not close enough to get anything useful out of him yet, sounds like the last way she want to spend on her evening. She likes her job better when she gets to shoot people.

But Enos doesn't need to know that. "I'll see you then," he says, leaning in to press his lips to hers.

The kiss is far too long to be appropriate in public. Enos is clearly sending a message. Whether he's telling Johnny to back off or Paige to behave herself, she doesn't know.

Paige rolls her neck, and he moves back a bit, resting his forehead on hers. "And Paige?"

He catches her chin in his palm and runs his thumb over her bottom lip, chuckling and pressing down when he gets to the mark left by his teeth. "Just know that I won't waste my time with a woman who has too many…" He smirks and cuts his eyes towards Johnny. " _Friends_."

When he's gone, he leaves her shoulder uncomfortably hot and the rest of her uncomfortably cold as she uses a napkin to scrub the feeling of his fingers off her lip.

Johnny looks stunned. "Did he just call you a-"

"Yeah." She cuts off Johnny's complaint, knowing that she can't afford to be too outraged on her own behalf until this is all over.

Her neck is sore, and she rolls it to get rid of some of the stiffness. Johnny is staring nervously at her, and she doesn't even want to know how much of this Mike picked up on from the truck. She smiles reassuringly and takes a long sip of her soda, quickly slamming the can back down when she sees her own tremors making it shudder.

They finish their lunch outside, in case Enos is watching from his office. When they climb back into the truck, Mike picks up on Johnny's irritation and Paige's stiffness and looks between them in confusion. "What the hell was that?"

"Paige's new boyfriend and I are gonna rumble, that's what that was," Johnny mutters, pulling out of the parking lot.

"He's not my boyfriend." She feels the need to correct him. Though, for the time being, it looks like he is.

* * *

In her room, she pulls a flannel shirt on over her ridiculously uncomfortable dress after dinner with Enos. The dress was strapless and her bruises from the night before were on full display. Enos knew what caused them immediately, but instead of apologizing, he smirked and told her that she must bruise easy. Had the nerve to call her _fragile_.

Paige really hopes she gets to hit him when this is all over.

As expected, he didn't bring up his business while they ate. At least he still wants to see her again, so her cover is still strong. And she stopped in at headquarters on her way home, and the DEA had his complete file ready, so that's another one for the win column.

She drops heavily onto her desk chair and rubs her eyes as she opens the case file. She's so tired, but if there's something in there that will help her start pounding nails into his coffin, she needs to see it now.

The photo on top startles her awake. She's completely alert now and thinks she might be sick. With her folded hands pressed against her mouth, she stares at the crime scene photo of a murder victim on the east coast, placed in the file because Enos was a person of interest in the case.

One of her fingers runs over what's left of the girl's face, and she feels the fancy dinner Enos bought rolling in her stomach.

Inconsistencies with the evidence and two false confessions from suspects that she _knows_ she saw surrounding Enos at the club the night before completely ruined any case they had against Enos, but Paige knows it in her gut that this was his doing.

She forces herself to move past the photo and look through the rest of the file. Minor drug charges back when he was still perfecting his business model. Before he became bulletproof, with employees that would confess to murder to protect him. Nothing that stuck.

Three domestic violence charges, which isn't as surprising as she'd like to say it is. The first two victims recanted, and the third…

She flips back to the photo of the murder victim and compares the names, knowing they'll match even before she sees the words printed in black and white. Holly Preston was his girlfriend, and he killed her. Brutally if the pictures are anything to go by.

What is she getting herself into?

Someone knocks, and she startles and slams the file closed. "Come in!"

Briggs lets himself in and sits on the bed. "Nice dress," he whistles. "I would have skipped the flannel, but that's just me."

She laughs without meaning it, and pulls the shirt tighter across her chest, needing to feel the warmth right now. "I'll keep that in mind next time."

"How was dinner?" he asks casually, but Paige knows that Paul rarely makes casual midnight visits.

She shrugs. "Expensive."

"Atta girl, make him pay." Something in his face changes, and Paige can pinpoint the exact moment that he decides to get to the point. "So, Johnny told me about your run in with Enos today."

_Damnit, Johnny._ Paige sighs and rubs her hands over her face. "Johnny tells fish stories."

Paul nods. "That's what I was hoping. Because the way he tells it, he was strangling you in broad daylight."

He tilts his head towards her neck, and she brushes her hair back so he can see that there's no mark. She'd checked earlier, but apparently she's not as _fragile_ as Enos thinks she is because there isn't any trace of his fingers digging into the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck.

This is apparently enough for Paul, because he groans and stands, patting her back on the way out.

"You finally get the full brief on Enos?" he asks when he spots the file.

"Yeah," she admits, but because she doesn't feel up to walking him through it right now, she says, "Didn't get a chance to look at it yet, though."

"Got a spare?"

"Um…yeah," she says frowning, looking anywhere but his face. "They gave me a copy to file with you. I'll slide it under the door as soon as I find it under all this crap."

She gestures towards her messy desk, and Briggs laughs sympathetically.

When he's gone, she pulls his copy out the drawer and flips it open to the picture that made her heart stop earlier. No way Paul sees what Enos did to Holly Preston and doesn't pull this case out from under her. Paige sighs. Even though they all fudge it sometimes, omitting information from a brief submitted to a supervising agent is definitely frowned upon.

But still, he's already so close shutting her down. And damnit, she really wants this guy.

Decision made, she pulls the paperwork and crime scene photos on the Preston murder from Paul's copy and tosses them in the trash can next to her desk. Further consideration has her tearing the domestic violence complaints out too, leaving the file pretty scarce.

Paige breathes. It's fine. She can handle this.

Everything's fine.

Later, after delivering the pruned file to Paul's room, Paige turns out the lights and lays in her bed, fully clothed because she doesn't have the energy to take anything off. She tosses and turns and can't get the image of Holly's Preston's face laying at the bottom of her trashcan out of her head. So she gets up and retrieves it, keeping it grasped tightly in her hand as she drifts off to sleep.


	3. Three

She feels a sharp edge of the crumpled photograph pressing against her collarbone and smooths it flat with the pad of her thumb. The light in her eyes means that it's morning, unlike the last four times she's startled awake and rolled over to check the clock. Nervous energy seems to be manifesting itself as the need to _do something_ , and now that the idea is there, she can't even escape it when she's sleeping.

Enos was pretty firm about not being able to see her today, which is good for her, bad for her case. But if she can use the time to find another angle to help her work him, then it's just a good day all around.

Speaking of another angle…

It's early. Earlier than she's usually awake, but Paige is pretty sure Mike is usually up and running by now.

Sure enough, a lucky glance out the window tells her that Mike is almost ready to pass the house for his second lap, so she scrambles barefoot down the stairs and dashes out onto the sand. Belatedly, she realizes she's still carrying Holly Preston's photo and tucks it under the strap of her bra, pulling her flannel shirt tightly around her to conceal it further as she runs.

It's hard to catch up because of his head start and her bare feet, but when she does, she sneaks up behind him and yanks his headphones out of his ears. The wires drop, swinging near his legs, and he nearly gets tangled and stumbles as he slows to a stop.

"Hey!"

"Go shower," Paige orders. "We have to get to work."

"On what?!" he asks, forehead creased in confusion (and probably some irritation).

"I need some help."

"You're telling me," he mumbles, giving her a dirty look as he uses the edge of his tank top to wipe the sand out of his earpieces, blowing gently into the speaker to dislodge any grains that he might have missed.

Paige rolls her eyes. "With Enos."

He sighs and turns back toward the house, and she grins, satisfied. He hasn't technically agreed yet, but it's a good sign that he isn't finishing his run. "Things moving too slowly?"

"I'd kill to be moving at a snail's pace right now," she snorts. "At least, I'd be moving. I need you to start working that CI."

"You want me to go under or put him back on the payroll?"

She shrugs. "You'll have to feel him out. You don't want him to be using so much that he can't keep a secret, but he could be so messed up that no one would believe him anyway."

They're back at the house by this point, but neither wants to bring this conversation inside, so they linger in the garage, Mike leaning against Paul's Jeep and Paige seated on the workbench. If they want to start today, they need to get some technical details ironed out, and it takes them long enough that they start to hear the others moving around inside.

"I still don't have a cover," Mike points out. "I have no idea what I'm going to say to this guy that will make him want to introduce me to his dealer."

"You'll figure it out," she assures. "Probably five minutes from now in the shower."

He shakes his head at her obvious hint to hurry his ass up and get ready. "You have high expectations for this shower."

"I have lots of high expectations." Paige hops down from the workbench and heads inside, pausing by the Jeep to rake her eyes over the length of him. He's already worked up a good sweat in the morning heat, and his t-shirt clings tightly to the shape of his chest and abs. She smirks and brushes sand off his shoulder.

"Don't let me down."

* * *

In the kitchen, Johnny is already manning the stove, headphones on, bobbing along to the music as he chops up an onion.

Paige slams her hands down on the counter to either side of him, and he jumps a mile in the air.

"Are you crazy?!" Johnny complains, shaking the knife at her. "I could have filleted your ass!"

She grabs the knife out of his hand and flings it forcefully into the sink. "Just the rat I wanted to see this morning."

"Aw, come on!" he groans. "You can't be pissed about that! I was just tryin' to help!"

"Johnny, my business is my business, and I don't need you to go running to Briggs every time some guy gets a little out of line."

Johnny hisses in uncertainty. "Yeah, but he said-"

"Johnny…"

"I was there! He said that if-"

Shushing him loudly, she crooks her finger for him to lean in closer until they're both hovering uncomfortably over the stove, careful not to move too far in any direction and get burned. "I'm going to give you a thirty second head start," Paige explains courteously. "You can spend it realizing that this line of defense isn't working or you can spend it running."

"She's all talk, Johnny boy," Briggs says easily, wandering into the kitchen with Charlie at his side. He tugs at the back of Paige's shirt until she sits back on the barstool, away from Johnny and the stove, giving her a pointed look. "Paige knows you did the right thing."

She smiles sweetly and nods, suppressing the urge to snap back because this case has her on thin ice and she's reluctant to push it after what she did with that file last night. She'd be more irritated, but now Charlie is standing behind Johnny, smacking his shoulder and hissing, "What have I told you about tattling?"

Grateful, she nudges her shoulder against Charlie's, who nudges her back, smiling until her eyes get caught on something near Paige's collarbone. "What's that?" she asks, fingers reaching out to examine it.

Flushing, Paige realizes what she's talking about and yanks her shirt back over shoulder to cover the photo, silently cursing Briggs for pulling it out of place. Eventually, it will be too risky to keep carrying that around with her, but the feeling of the cool, glossy paper is comforting against her skin. So for now, she'll humor herself.

"Tag," she lies easily, sliding into her spot at the table.

Jakes makes it down just in time for breakfast, which they all wolf down quickly without much conversation, a sign that they're all expecting today to be a long one.

"Let me get that for you," he says, taking her plate to the sink so she doesn't have to get up from the table.

Squinting suspiciously, Paige eyes him all the way to the sink, where he pauses, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Subtle," she praises sarcastically. "What do you want?"

"Yeah, should have figured you'd pick up on that," he sighs, rubbing his neck. "I need you to come to dinner this Friday. For my case."

_Interesting_ … "What case?"

He ignores her. "I'll pay, all you have to do is show at 7:30 and let me do the talking."

"What case, DJ?" she asks, grinning because he doesn't want to tell her and that means it's _really_ good.

All eyes are on him, as the rest of the kitchen stops what they're doing to see what's going to come of this. Jakes groans and drops his head into his hands. Finally, he sighs and looks up dejectedly, resigned to what's coming. "Supposedly this restaurant is selling shark fin soup…"

Silence. Until Johnny breaks and starts laughing, taking the others down with him.

"Wow…you ICE guys get all the action," Charlie deadpans.

"It's illegal in the state of California, not to mention unethical, and they shouldn't have brought it into-"

Paige paints on a wide-eyed, panicked look, glad to be laughing again after all this crap with Enos. "Are you trying to get me killed?" she demands playfully. "What kind danger are you getting me mixed up in?"

"Ha ha," Jakes scowls. "Sometimes Jakes has to work boring cases because that's his job and it's really funny. Get over it. Paige, are you coming or not?"

She nods, and he makes his escape.

"Just remember, man, this isn't her war!" Johnny calls, pretending to choke up as Jakes disappears up the stairs. "You bring her back alive, you hear me?!"

Paige chuckles and races up after him, swinging into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

"What's taking so long?" she demands, banging on the shower door. Behind the glass, she can see Mike jump.

"I take a long time, Paige! It's called stamina."

Wrinkling her nose, she tries not to laugh and encourage him. "Well, take your stamina somewhere else! I still have to shower before we can leave."

"I don't have a cover yet."

"Mike!"

She can hear him laughing over the sound of the spray and smiles because she doesn't get to hear him sounding so relaxed very often.

"Just to be clear, I'm getting out prematurely because you asked me too. Not because I couldn't stay in here all day."

"Stop," she groans, laughing. "Please, just…stop. You're making it weird!"

He leaves with a towel around his waist, but Paige stays. Still sitting on the counter and resting her head against the mirror, grinning at nothing. Work, Enos, and even Holly Preston temporarily forgotten.

* * *

They both lean in at the same time, accidentally knocking the tops of their heads together and shooting apart.

"Well, this is…"

"Yeah."

"Disgusting."

"Yep, pretty gross."

Why do people buy shark fin soup?

They stare, revolted, into Dale's bowl before the smell gets to be too much and they have to back away.

Paige leans back in her chair and helps herself to some more bread from the basket. "Why did I have to come?"

"Because a man sittin' here by himself, ordering the only illegal thing on the menu looks like a damn undercover cop. "

She shrugs. "Fair enough. Not like I had anywhere to go tonight."

"Enos working?" Jakes asks, stealing a bite of her pasta because his own meal is evidence.

"Yep. Top secret stuff, too."

Wincing, Dale pours some more water into her glass. Paige thinks about her bleak work situation and pretends it's vodka. It helps until she actually tastes it.

"You two have been attached at the hip all week. He's still not giving you anything?"

"Just an extreme dislike to the man attached to my hip," she mumbles.

She feels eyes on her and subtly turns in her chair, hoping it's some run of the mill, everyday kind of pervert staring at her low cut dress and not someone who could throw a wrench in Dale's investigation.

Her eyes land on the source, and ice water floods her veins. Her skin feels overheated and flushed, but she shivers from the chill that settles over her insides, as her vision swims and her eyelids beg to be lowered. She wants to put her head on the table and stay there until the rest of the world stops to let her think.

"Are you making arrests tonight?" she asks quietly, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

Jakes is still staring into his bowl, looking more than a little disgusted. "Nah, I have to take it to the lab tomorrow, make sure it is what they say it is."

Paige nods, absently gnawing at her thumbnail until she realizes what she's doing and spits it out. "You need to leave."

"What?"

"You need to get out of here," she says more urgently. "Enos is two tables back with that woman in the black dress. He's already seen us."

Instantly alert, Jakes starts to scoop his evidence into the container hidden in her purse. "You need me to stick around?"

Shaking her head, she watches as he stands and tucks the container into his jacket pocket. To be honest, she really wishes he would. There's an uncomfortable feeling in her throat because she knows there's no way Enos is going to let this go without a confrontation, and for a brief moment, she forgets that she's supposed to be worrying about her case and thinks about her aching arms and the feeling of his hands on her neck that day at the food truck.

"No," she chokes, coughing to cover her nerves. "Go ahead. I'll handle it."

Jakes isn't gone three minutes when she feels him at her shoulder, hand skimming the exposed skin along her back as he takes DJ's place at the table.

"Your date left you here all alone," Enos mocks, feigning sympathy. "That wasn't very gentlemanly."

"My _colleague_ had a flight to catch," Paige says cooly, resisting the urge to check over her shoulder to see if Enos's own date is still there. "And it looks like you're doing the same thing."

" _My_ colleague will understand. She's used to tense situations."

From what she saw of the woman, she looks fairly well put together. Not at all like a street level dealer. Part of his cooking operation? She wishes she could get a picture for facial recognition.

"Is there tension between us?" she asks, laughing slightly, pretending like the very idea is ridiculous. "Over a couple of business dinners?"

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. With him, it never really does, but it seems more noticeable now. "We should talk somewhere privately."

Off the main dining room, there's a nice bathroom the size of her first apartment. The kind with an attendant that Enos bribes for a few minutes of discretion, grinning wolfishly like they're a young couple in love, about to do something they shouldn't be doing in public.

When the door closes, they are left more alone than they've ever been before. Paige swallows.

"I don't know what to say," Luis says, shaking his head. "I thought I made it clear that I wasn't going to sit back while you were whoring it up all-"

"Watch your mouth!" she snaps, deciding that it was more suspicious to sit there and take it than to stick up for herself. "You don't hear me crying about your new _friend_."

His hands strike towards her, grabbing both her arms just under the shoulder and squeezing, shaking her slightly. "That's none of your concern," he hisses, pressing her back until she's pressed up against the tile wall, a perfect replica of the scene in the alley the first time they met.

He's close to losing control. Really close. And she has to talk him down, not only before he does her serious harm but before he does something so bad that it would be suspicious for her to stick around and finish her case.

Smiling softly, she presses her forehead to his cheek for a moment before leaning back to look him in the eye. "Are you going to hurt me, Luis?" she asks quietly, sounding almost amused.

He takes a breath, and for a second, she thinks that he might be trying to decide, but eventually the sharp frankness of the question startles him from his fog of temper.

"No, of course not." He releases her arms and backs up, as Paige stumbles towards the sink.

Air feels sharp and prickly in her lungs, and she realizes that she isn't breathing right. She rests her elbows near the faucet, her torso pressed against the marble edge of the sink, and watches herself in the mirror as she takes slower, deeper breaths until her head is clear again.

Behind her, Enos has his fingers laced behind his neck, staring at her with an almost panicked look in his eyes. "You're fine," he scowls. "I don't what all the histrionics are about."

"Go to hell," Paige orders idly, voice sounding more airy and out of it than she's necessarily comfortable hearing.

"Learn some respect," he snaps. "Because you're not going to talk to me like that."

"No?" she laughs. "Oh, I forgot. You're too _special_ and _important_ to-"

He's on her again, pressing from behind with his whole body. The marble countertop digs into her ribs, and she gasps for air, choking on what oxygen she manages to take in because it can't reach her lungs. Her feet slip on the tile floor as she tries to wretch herself away, but Enos is holding strong, pushing harder and harder while he growls something into her ear that she can't focus hard enough on to decipher. Something pops in her chest, and the momentary release is immediately eclipsed by _pain_. Sharp and throbbing, pushing its way out against her torso. Blood rushes loudly in her ears, and she can't hear the strangled little cry she releases.

But Enos does and backs off. Nervously straightening his clothes, he tugs his rumpled tie back into position and nods stiffly.

"Sorry," he says, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry."

He waits for her to say something, but she _can't,_ so he continues. "You shouldn't provoke people like that. You could get hurt."

Eyeing him in the mirror, she laughs in disbelief, doubling over in pain when the motion aggravates her ribs.

"Clean yourself up," Enos orders firmly. "I'll be waiting at the table."

Then he's gone.

Paige is shaking, and it takes a second for her to realize that it's _anger_ vibrating in her bones, boiling her blood.

She sinks to the floor.


	4. Four

There's an uneven clicking sound coming from the corner of her room, and Paige doesn't have the slightest inclination to open her eyes and figure out what it is. The pain from her ribs has intensified overnight, and she's having trouble figuring out how much movement she can stand before the ache becomes more than she can handle. She's concerned the answer is none.

Wearily, she pries open one eye and aims it at her desk, where Charlie is relaxing in _her_ chair, feet up on the desk, clearly rumpling some important paperwork. Paige's laptop is balanced on her outstretched legs, and Paige groans when she realizes that Charlie is already way past her standard log in screen.

"How-? My password?" she murmurs sleepily. It comes out as more of a whine than she would have liked, but it's early, and Charlie is doing who knows what on her computer, and everything _hurts_ , so she'll give herself a pass on this one.

"You're awake," Charlie observes, chuckling. "And either you delete your browser history, or you're living a very boring digital life."

Paige grabs her unused pillow and plants it over her face. "Why? Why are you here?"

"Snooping, mostly." Her voice is coming closer, and Paige presses the pillow harder into her grimacing face when the mattress dips and the movement sets her ribs on fire. "Something's going on with you," she hears, albeit slightly muffled.

"You didn't think to ask me?"

Gently, Charlie pries her fingers from where they're tangled in the pillowcase and removes the pillow. Her face is serious now, and Paige is suddenly very away of how close they're sitting and how many readable microexpressions pain can trigger. "We both know you wouldn't tell me if I did."

Paige stares blankly, hoping to wait her out. There isn't really anything to say to that, and apparently Charlie doesn't expect her to try.

When she doesn't jump to defend herself or deliver a signed confession, Charlie sighs and changes tactics.

"You're the last one up," she says good-naturedly. "That's my gig."

"There can't be two?"

"Nah," Charlie shakes her head and stretches as she stands. "One is an outlier. Two is an unfair generalization about women waiting to happen."

Laughing, Paige carefully pulls herself up until she's propped against the headboard, keeping her face turned the other way so Charlie can't see the way it contorts in discomfort. "I'll try harder."

"Good, start now. Everyone's ready to head down the beach. I told them we couldn't leave until you were up."

Well, that sounds... excruciating. There is absolutely nothing she wants to be doing less than that. She tells Charlie as much.

"You're going," Charlie says, shrugging. "Or I'm gonna congratulate Mikey on being the inspiration for your laptop password."

Paige scowls. "I'll be down in a minute."

Smiling, Charlie goes to leave, but pauses in the doorway. "All joking aside," she starts seriously. "You'd tell me if you weren't okay?"

Palm creeping up to support her ribcage, Paige nods. "I'm fine," she says quietly.

* * *

A handful of pills leftover from that time Johnny twisted his knee while surfing has her feeling well enough to move and (if she's being honest) a little buzzed. For federal agents, they're surprising lax when it comes to where their prescription pills end up.

Still, she's not quite up to joining the others in the waves. So she's sharing a towel with Jakes, who rarely joins in on these little family outings to the beach. Paige, on the other hand, is usually right there in the thick of things, so her absence is causing some suspicion.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this stimulating conversation," Jakes prefaces, startling her out of the haze that results from staring silently into the ocean for a ten minute stretch. "But why aren't you out there again?"

Because she's pretty sure one of her ribs snapped off completely and is just floating around in there now.

Well, that's an exaggeration. And a bad answer. So instead she says, "I've been putting some serious thought into becoming a killjoy. Thought I'd get some practice in."

"Smart ass," he snorts. "But you're off to a good start. Ruined Mike's day when you came out in that get up."

Paige glances down at her denim shorts and cropped t-shirt, slipped on over her usual bikini, though she has no intention of taking them off. She shrugs. So she isn't showing off anything but her midriff. Sue her. The rest of her torso looks like she's been backed over by a truck. Technically, she could have worn her bikini bottoms, but these shorts have a pocket for Holly Preston's photograph, which she still isn't ready to be separated from.

Mike's just going to have to get over it.

Paige frowns. She's going to tan unevenly. Yet another reason to hate Luis Enos.

A drop of water lands on her neck and traces a cool path down to the neck of her shirt. Squinting against the sun, she looks up to see that it's Mike dripping all over her.

Jakes rolls his eyes and stands, brushing sand off his legs. "I'm gonna go see how long I can hold Johnny's head under water."

Mike takes his place on the towel next to her and gently bumps his shoulder into hers. "This is the first time I've been to the beach with everyone at the same time, so I don't know how this usually works. But Johnny's been complaining that you're usually more fun than this."

She wishes she could pull her legs up and hold them against herself, but as comforting as that would normally be, today it would leave her in agony. Instead, she buries her feet in the sand, worming her toes down as far as they'll go and enjoying the sensation of the warm sand against her skin. "Just not feeling very fun, I guess."

"Enos?" he guesses (correctly).

She nods, sifting sand through her fingertips.

"What can I do?" he asks, sounding almost desperate.

"Plant evidence," she suggests dryly.

God help her, he looks like he might actually do it.

"Kidding," she amends. "You're doing everything you can. If things go south on my end, we're going to have to flip your street dealer."

Mike shrugs, clearly not believing her. In his mind, there's always something more he could be doing. It's kind of nice, when it isn't so irritating. "What makes it so bad?" he asks carefully. "I mean that kind of cover sucks, but…"

His words fail, and she smiles and fills in the blank. "What makes it suck worse than usual?"

He nods.

"He's just such a…" She sighs, unable to think of a word to get across how much of a bastard Enos is. How every insult, or cocky grin, or _injury_ (because there have been several now and that alone makes her want to step on his face) makes her burn for the day she puts the cuffs on him.

"He deserves it," she tries again. "With drug arrests, there's a lot of grey area. Sometimes it's good people mixed up with some bad shit. But this guy just really _deserves_ it."

"You'll make it happen," Mike says confidently, putting a warm hand on her knee. " _We'll_ make it happen. I'm not going to let this go either."

Technically, that doesn't change anything. So why does she feel so much better?

"Come on," she orders, getting to her feet as smoothly as she can manage, but not reaching to pull him up like she normally would. She knows her limits. "Let's go help Johnny. Charlie and Paul are too busy making out to stop Jakes from drowning him. "

Mike grins and follows, not even commenting when she slips of her shorts but not her t-shirt.

* * *

"Heads up!"

Paige winces as yet another one of her passes goes wide and lands in the ocean.

"Paige!" Johnny yells as he fishes the football out and dries it with his shirt. "Get it together! This is not the level of play I expect from my team!"

She scowls. It's not her fault. Her range of motion is limited, and the pills are wearing off, leaving her cranky and in pain. She didn't want to play two-on-two, but when she looked back at the towel, Charlie and Briggs had already claimed it. And sitting there awkwardly to the side while those two were all over each other was the last thing she wanted to do.

But two-on-two was a close second.

She's been playing defensively, getting rid of the ball as soon as she gets it and running in the other direction when Mike gets that playful look that indicates he's about to tackle. Even so, the running doesn't exactly feel good. At this point, she just wants to lay flat on the sand and never get up.

"P, comin' at ya!"

Johnny's sent a clean pass spiraling towards her, and she turns just in time to wrap her arms around it as it collides with her chest. She lets it fall limply from her hands as she lands flat on her back, head colliding roughly with the sand.

After an initial cry of pain, she manages to limit herself to distressed little gasps, and suddenly Charlie is right there, framing her face with her hands and urging her to calm down and breathe normally. Her chest feels tight, and nothing she does will relieve it.

A hand lands on her shoulder, and through the spots in her vision, she can see it belongs to Briggs.

Jakes is holding Mike back, but for a second he breaks free and is in her face until Jakes yanks him away again. "Give her some room to breathe," he scolds, struggling to pull Mike away from where Paul is gently using his fingers to time the pulse in her neck. "She got the wind knocked out of her."

Briggs shakes his head. "That's not even where she got hit," he corrects in confusion, hand reaching for the hem of her t-shirt, which is stiff and starchy from the dried salt water.

"No!" she rasps, scrambling to her feet and ignoring the screaming in her chest and Charlie's frantic hands trying to pull her back down. "I'm fine!" She breathes some more, arms winding around her stomach and holding tight. "I'm fine."

The others don't look so sure, and poor Johnny is standing off to the side, unconsciously mimicking her position and looking horrified. She notices fondly that he's flung the football into the ocean (himself this time) like it was contaminated.

"I'm fine," she promises again, stronger now that she has an added reason to appear that way. "It was all me. I just…caught it weird or something."

Briggs has his eyes narrowed, and she can see the puzzles pieces sliding around in his head. Preemptively, she tries to retreat from his sight, back to the house, but stumbles on the uneven sand.

"Woah." Mike has managed to slip away again, and is now wrapping an arm around her waist. "You want to go home?" he murmurs so the others can't hear.

Nodding, Paige waits until Mike has waved the others off to allow him to help her back up the beach, both of them taking it slow. The Graceland air conditioning feels cool and dry against her overheated skin, and she presses her cheek against the cold refrigerator door.

"Can you run upstairs and grab a sweatshirt for me?" she requests, needing him out of the room for a minute. "I'm still sort of winded."

When he's gone, she swallows a few more of Johnny's painkillers. This time, she palms the bottle to slip into the pocket of her sweatshirt when Mike brings it, so she can take more later without waiting for the kitchen to clear.

"Here."

She frowns at the red zip-up hoodie that clearly isn't hers.

"All of yours looked too tight," he explains, clearly embarrassed. "I thought it would hurt to get them on."

Paige smiles and carefully pulls it on, subtly hiding the pill bottle in the pocket.

"Are you still sore?"

"No," she lies, thinking that had it actually just been a football hit she wouldn't still be feeling it. "I'm fine."

Mike eyes her oddly, and she remembers how she repeated the exact same thing when she clearly was _not_ fine. So probably her assurance isn't as concrete as she'd like it to be.

"You scared me," he says lowly, rubbing his closed eyes. Headache? Paige winces guiltily.

"Yeah," she mutters, frowning because she doesn't like all this fuss. "I think I scared everyone."

"No!" His tone is sharp, and Paige looks up to see him stepping into her personal space. "Paige, you really scared _me_."

His eyes are wide and earnest and suddenly right next to hers, his nose brushing to the left of hers, and without thinking she lifts her chin to force their lips together. She relaxes in relief when he responds eagerly because she hasn't really put much into whether or not he wanted this too. She hasn't really put much thought into _any_ of this. And now that they're here, it doesn't feel like she should have to.

Mike's fingers are grappling under her legs, and when she realizes what he wants, she jumps slightly and lets him hoist her onto the counter. She has a little bit of height on him now, which takes the pressure off her ribs. (Probably that was his intention, to be careful with her "football injury".) So she feels more comfortable leaning into him, one hand on his shoulder and the other in his hair.

The front door slams, and Mike helps her jump down from the counter in one swift motion. Within seconds, Johnny is in the kitchen.

"We're back," he announces proudly.

Paige nods and fixes her hair, just barely holding back a scowl. But when she sees the look on Johnny's face and realizes what he must be thinking, she softens.

"You're back early," she says, tossing him a beer from the fridge to show there's no hard feelings.

"We were two men down, it just didn't feel right," Charlie adds, as she drops her bag by the door and joins them in the kitchen, Briggs following behind her. "How are you?"

"Fine," Paige insists, though she doesn't know why she's bothering considering the fact that they're both staring at her, making their own observations.

Briggs shrugs. "She looks better," he assures Charlie, who shakes her head. "She looks flushed. Maybe it was the heat?"

That's as good an excuse as anything else. "It was the heat," Paige agrees.

"Either way, take someone with you if you're going to see Enos tonight," Briggs orders.

"Can't. He was pretty insistent on being alone at his place."

Charlie braces her hands against the counter and bites her lip. "You think he's getting ready to push for something?"

"Timing's about right." Paige shrugs. "If he doesn't already, he's going to start feeling entitled to it."

She feels Mike stiffen next to her and subtly reaches for his hand, confident the counter will hide them from view. This has been her game for a long time, and by now, she's pretty numb to the hard truths of going under as the girlfriend. But she can imagine that to Mike, that sounded harsh.

Paul catches her eye and tilts his head, and she takes the hint, sliding over until she's directly across the counter from him and a little bit further from the others. It's as much privacy as they're going to get.

"I don't want you alone with him until you're sure you're at 100 percent," he says firmly. "Can you push it back until tomorrow?"

Paige looks to the other end of the kitchen, where Mike is leaning against the wall, not quite joining in with the others but throwing in a comment every once in a while. He catches her eye and smiles.

"Yeah," she agrees. "That'll be fine."

She's pretty sure she'll find something else to do tonight.


	5. Five

Mike thinks he's helping her get ready for a date with her _other_ boyfriend, which is a weird concept in that of itself, but really he's just sitting on her bed. Being a hindrance. Still, she doesn't necessarily want him to leave. They're in that lovey beginning stage where all they want is to be near each other and they haven't been together long enough for there to be anything to fight about. In her experience, with people in their line of work, that doesn't last long. So she'll soak it up while she can.

Maybe if she'd gone through a similar phase with Enos, it wouldn't be hurting so badly to hold her arms over her head and fix her hair.

"I don't understand why you're curling it," Mike groans, staring at the ceiling. "You _just_ straightened it."

She winds the last strand around the curling iron and makes a face at him in the mirror. "That's the secret to keeping the curls nice."

"Oh, so _that's_ what I've been doing wrong."

Behind her, the bed squeaks and settles, and she smiles in anticipation. Not to disappoint, Mike slides his hands over her bare shoulders, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. They haven't been together long, but she already knows that's a favorite spot of his, and she happily leans forward to oblige.

"That's it," she declares, heaving a theatric sigh. "That's all my secrets. One day in and we've lost the mystery."

"Not all of it," he promises.

He's righter than he knows.

As she's touching up her make-up, he continues to keep his hands most definitely _not_ to himself, and eventually they find their way to either side of her waist, high enough to put pressure on her injury. Paige holds very still, tube of lipstick frozen in one place on her bottom lip.

Mike notices and frowns, pulling his hands back up to her shoulders. "Like that. I'd really like to know what's going on with that."

"Like what?" she says carefully. She finishes her lipstick and twists the cap on, staring at the tube with unnecessary concentration.

"I don't know," he admits. "You just seem…stiff or something."

Frowning, she turns her chair to face him, but on the inside, she's grinning. This, _this_ she can work with.

"Oh, wow." Paige forces a disbelieving laugh, internally congratulating herself on sounding properly offended. " _Wow_. Stiff? You are a real charmer. You know that?"

He groans. "Come on…"

"I'm serious! Stiff. Just what every girl wants to hear. That's just…great, Mike."

"That came out wrong. Can we just run through your plan for tonight and not talk about it anymore?"

Just like that, she's off the hook. And he thinks it was his idea. Sometimes, she thinks she may be _too_ good at what she does.

"Nothing too complicated," Paige starts, all too willing to divert the conversation away from her recent behavior. "He wants to meet at his place. So I'll go, slip a little something in his drink, and while he takes a nap, I'll take a look around. See if I can find something that will help us track down whoever's actually doing the cooking."

Mike looks uneasy. "You're being really casual about drugging this guy. It's unnerving."

She shrugs. She'll do what she has to. It's not the first time and it probably won't be the last. But that isn't reassuring, so instead she says, "I don't have to like it, but it's the means to end. Simplest, safest way to get what I need."

"How do you even know you're going to be having drinks?"

"What else would we do?" she asks.

Her tone must make him doubt his answer because it comes out as a weak suggestion. "Watch TV?"

Paige can't help it. She laughs. Hard, until she's doubled over her vanity, cursing herself for abusing her ribs further. "Is that what I have to expect when we start going on dates?" she asks when she calms herself down. "Watching TV?"

"Not every night," Mike defends, scowling.

"If I ever accuse you of cheating on me, remind me of this. It'll put my mind at ease."

"Oh, please. Women love me!"

Silence.

Delighted, she wants to let that hang in the air for as long as possible, and he appears to be choking on his own words, trying to figure how to follow that in a way that won't humiliate himself further. He doesn't come up with anything. There really isn't anything he can say that makes this less fun for her. "Please, please forget I just said that."

"No, you're making a great case for yourself, keep going," she encourages.

Mike winces. "Is this what you do when you don't want to talk about something? Make jokes at my expense?"

"No. Of course not. Sometimes, it's DJ or Johnny-"

"Paige."

She sighs, winding her fingers through his and letting him pull her to her feet. "There's nothing to talk about," she promises, disappointed that their playful mood couldn't last longer than it did and not dwelling on how much worse it feels to lie to Mike now that they're together.

"Sure," he says, sounding unconvinced. "Just be careful tonight."

She wishes she could be.

* * *

"Oh, god. Look at all the young people," Charlie complains. "I have a freaking migraine just looking at the place."

Briggs empathetically kneads her shoulder, also staring at the bar with distaste. They're in the backseat, leaning against each other, looking adorable and aggravating at the same time. Groaning out a weak laugh, Paige rests her head on the steering wheel and gapes at them through the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry, did I miss something? Did you somehow age a decade on the drive here?"

Jabbing a finger at her without looking away from the hordes of college kids packing the bar closest to Enos' apartment complex, Charlie narrows her eyes. "You better watch it, we're doing you a favor here."

"I explicitly told you I didn't want you to come," Paige argues. "You wouldn't get out of the car."

No one disagrees because that's exactly what happened. Paul and Charlie climb out of the car and rap on the driver's side window until she lowers it.

"Don't put up with any of his shit," Charlie says firmly. "If you have to end it, end it."

Nodding in agreement, Briggs taps the screen of his phone. "We're less than five minutes away. And if he gets in our way, Chuck's not afraid to punch a doorman."

"Go!" Paige laughs. "Go be the death of that party."

It's weird to bring backup on what's supposed to be a date, but they mean well and Paige isn't _entirely_ irritated to have them there. This is the first time she's seen Enos since the incident in the bathroom, and she's more nervous than she usually is for these things. The last time they saw each other is still heavy in her chest, pressing uncomfortably against her cracked ribs, and she's worried she'll let her anger take over and screw this up.

She hates him. More than she's ever hated any of the other perps she's gone this far under for. And she's anxious it will seep into her every movement until Enos catches on.

To make herself feel better, she times her escape route.

Forty-five seconds between the apartment and the bar across the street. Thirty between the front door and her car. A solid minute in the elevator. Not ideal. She hopes she won't have to use it.

Enos opens the door, and it's awkward. Really awkward. Right off the bat. It's not so much that he's sorry for what happened at the restaurant (she's sure he isn't), and more that he isn't sure how she's going to act around him.

Finally, he clears his throat and steps aside to let her in. "You're early. You should have called."

Temper bristles. _Deep breath._

Paige smiles woodenly. "Just couldn't wait to see you, I guess."

She steps closer, and he grabs her arms, pulling her in for a hello kiss.

It's wrong. So wrong. She can _feel_ Mike all over her, like his fingers left visible prints along the paths they traced over arms, his lips etched into his favorite place on her neck.

Unsurprisingly, Enos doesn't feel how things have changed and murmurs against her lips, "It's rude to be early."

"Somehow I never got the impression you were that big on manners." Her hands glides pointedly over her ribcage, and he rolls his eyes.

"Get over it," he urges. "I'll get us some wine."

After he disappears into the kitchen, she moves to window, instantly comforted when she easily spots the bar where she dropped Briggs and Charlie off.

Glasses ring against each other, warning her to hastily pull her _relaxation aid_ out of her clutch and slip it between her thumb and index finger. It doesn't look much different than a sugar packet which will work in her favor if something goes wrong and she's caught with it. Paige rips the top open before sitting on the couch, tucking her hand under her thigh to keep the packet hidden.

Luis hands her a glass, and she nods gratefully before faking a sip, careful not to let it actually touch her lips. Tonight is not the night to get even remotely tipsy. "Red?" she questions, remembering that she'd told him she didn't care for the taste during their last dinner together.

"You'll learn to like it." He shrugs.

 _Charming_.

She purses her lips until they're tightly sealed and lets the wine splash against them again. "I'm surprised you like living so close to that college bar. The chaos would bother me."

"You can't hear them from here," he dismisses. "And they stay on their side of the street."

"You should tell that to the one puking in your parking lot."

Instantly, he takes the bait and rushes to the window, probably concerned for his surely very expensive vehicle. Paige smiles to herself and pours the sedative in his wine, swishing the glass to help it dissolve as he leans out the window trying to spot the troublemaker.

He turns around while she has her hand in her clutch, storing the empty packet, and she pulls her phone out to cover the action.

"I didn't see anyone," he scowls, eying her phone. "What, am I boring you?"

"Expecting a text from work," she lies easily.

"What do you do again?"

How has this not come up in the two weeks they've been seeing each other? Enos must really like to talk about himself. At this point, she's blocking a lot of it out. It's never useful anyway. He's too smart for that.

"I'm a pharmaceutical rep," Paige answers. "What about you?"

Enos takes a long sip of his wine and laughs mostly to himself. "I guess you could say I'm in a similar business."

Paige grins as he drains nearly his entire glass. _Arrogant bastard._

* * *

 

The plan goes off without a hitch. The drug acts fast, and Enos is unconscious, Paige rifling through his desk, before the half hour mark.

Although, it's not like he keeps purchase orders for all his deals neatly filed on paper. So all she finds are five files that turn out to be some if not all of Enos's property holdings in southern California. Paige takes pictures with her phone and slips the files back in the bottom drawer, leaving Luis Enos passed out on the couch as she makes her silent exit.

She doesn't even have to kiss him goodbye.

Now, she has printouts of the records spread out on the dining table, Briggs helping her make sense of it all.

"He needs a storehouse for the merchandise. Somewhere that isn't tied to the rest of the operation so dealers he doesn't trust as much can pick up their inventory without seeing anything they shouldn't." He carefully examines the dimensions of one of the building plans, before putting it down and inspecting a different one. "Maybe two, even. So no one knows exactly how much he's holding at any given time."

"These two?" Paige asks, passing him the files for the two smallest buildings.

Briggs nods. "Good catch. Which leaves your kitchen narrowed down to one of these three."

"Two," she sighs, relieved. "One of those is the office we staked out a couple weeks ago. Too populated for a cookhouse. Thanks for taking a look."

"No problem." He groans and leans back in his chair, snapping the last file closed. "Charlie's still asleep anyway. She had too much fun with those college kids last night."

While they're cleaning up, Mike comes in to get something out the fridge and looks at them oddly. "Casework?"

Paige gives him a warning look, recognizing the expression on his face. They've been running this thing with mostly just the two of them and he doesn't like that she went to Briggs instead of him.

"Paul's been helping me with these property holdings. He's more familiar with the organization of big operations like this. I'm more a street level kind of girl."

There's still some hurt in his face, but the kitchen is not really the place for her to do what she normally would to get rid of it.

"It's not that I didn't want your help," she assures him. "In fact, I don't know if you know this or not, but…I've heard that women love you."

Mike grins. "Shut up."

* * *

Enos goes strangely radio silent for two days after that. It could be because she has the DEA storm one of his storehouses and seize half his inventory. Losing that much product would have anyone rattled.

And while Paige is glad that they could get at least some of it off the street before it ever arrived there, she's nervous that Enos will put together the pieces and realize that she was alone in his apartment, where the address was kept, while he was asleep on the couch.

She's even more nervous that he'll question _why_ he was asleep on the couch.

But on Wednesday, he calls to invite her over again and seems about as pleasant as he ever is. Not very, but not suspicious either. She deems it unnecessary to drag Briggs and Charlie along for backup again, and leaves before he can change his mind.

When he answers the door, she can tell right away that he's close to the edge.

"You're early again," he mutters, turning back to stalk into the kitchen without another word, leaving her standing in the hall, staring wistfully at the elevator. She steps in and closes the door behind her, following the sound of glass being slammed down onto granite into the kitchen.

The apartment is in disarray, dirty clothes on the floor, dishes spilling out of the sink. This storehouse raid has him really shook up.

"You know how busy I am," he snaps, pushing a drink into her hand. "What is wrong with you that you can't figure out how to get here on time?"

Paige glances down into the gold alcohol in her glass. She wishes she could drink it. It seems like she's really going to need it tonight. "I figured I should get here earlier if I wanted to actually spend some time with you," she teases breezily. "You know, before you pass out on me again."

For some reason, he flushes red and stares down into his glass. "That won't happen again," he scowls. "I should have been more careful."

Nodding, she leans against the counter, feeling like she just dodged a bullet. He's still aggravated, but he's calmer now. Even if he isn't making any sense. Something prickles in the back of her mind, and she shoves it down to focus more on his demeanor.

"Careful with what?" she asks absently, silently weighing her chances of actually getting something out of him tonight.

Enos is quiet for a minute, holding his scotch to his mouth but not drinking. "I just meant I shouldn't have had so much to drink."

Her instincts scream at her again, and this time, she stops to listen. _He had less than one glass of wine, why does he think-?_

Wait.

"No," she swallows. "That's not what you meant. That's not…"

He looks up at her, and she knows she's right.

"You put something in my drink," she says mostly to herself. "That's why you're not…you think the glasses got switched."

_Oh, god._

Before she knows what she's doing, her glass flies out of her hand and shatters against his chest, soaking his white shirt as glass shards tinkle against the tile floor.

His fist rams against her jaw.

"Clean it up," he orders when it's over.

Paige does.

* * *

Mike's there when she gets home, but she tells him that she wants to take a shower and leaves him standing in the kitchen, looking perplexed. In the bathroom, she locks the door and turns the shower on before she sits on the floor, leaning up against the sink.

Tomorrow, she'll tell the others that she went on a last minute raid with the DEA tactical team. The suspect ran, and when she caught him, he clocked her in the face.

They'll believe it, and if they don't, she'll make them believe it. Because she cannot be pulled off this case.

Luis Enos is going to prison. And Paige is going to put him there.


	6. Six

“You’re not making me sorry that you’re leaving,” Paige complains, laughing as he rips another one of her suggestions out of his duffel bag and onto the floor.

Mike tries to scowl at her but ends up smiling and flopping down on the pillow next to her. “No? Then I don’t feel bad telling you this. There is no undercover op. I’m just trying to get a few days away from you.”

She whacks his face with the pillow from under her head and scrambles over his chest to get at his bag again. “Seriously?” she scolds, unpacking a handful of polo shirts and dumping them on his face. “It’s like you’ve never been to rehab before.”

As she raids his dresser to find some old, grungier clothes that she’s never seen on him before because they rarely see the light of day, Mike pretends to stutter over an embarrassed explanation _that no, he’s never been to rehab before_ in the same tone of voice that other people would use to admit that they _had_ been hiding a drug problem. Paige laughs and tosses a stiff-feeling, worn T-shirt onto the bed.

“That’s what all the cool kids will be wearing,” she assures him.

Rolling his eyes, he shoves it into the bag. “This is what I get for doing you a favor. I’ll remember that.”

Since Enos is determined to wind her through the ringer and back again before he gives her anything useful, Mike’s pushing for information from his disgraced CI. Which has recently become more difficult because said CI’s wealthy parents shipped him off to an expensive rehab facility to kick the habit. So Mike’s following right behind him.

Paige snorts. “You’re basically going to a spa. You want to trade places? Enos can stick his tongue down your throat, while I get a deep tissue massage.”

He winces, and she swallows a sigh. Some days, it feels like he’s perfectly fine with things between her and Enos. But it’s a rough dynamic for anyone to handle, and sometimes, she feels like he might be feeling some real jealousy over her fake relationship. She’s not sure if she wants him to get over it or if she wants it be done with before he ever has to.

“Are you seeing him tonight?” he asks quietly, letting her hand him some more casual clothes to pack.

She nods. “He wanted me to spend the night, but I told him I thought I was going to get my period.”

To his credit, Mike doesn’t bat an eye. “He isn’t suspicious at all? That things aren’t…progressing?”

“He’s frustrated,” she admits. “But he just thinks that I want to take things slow.”

They pack in silence for a while, but Paige can tell that he’s working up the nerve to bring something up. Curiously, she tilts her head, resting a hand on his wrist to urge him to stop folding and look at her.

He sighs. “Along those same lines…”

Paige feels heat creeping up her neck, from her chest to her cheeks and forehead. Her thick, limp sweater feels uncomfortably warm on her torso, and she wishes she could take it off. “Are you disappointed with the way things are _progressing_?” she asks coolly.

“No,” he says firmly. “Paige, no. I’m fine with it. It’s just that...I kind of got the impression that this is slower than you’re used to.”

Something pounds the air out of her chest, and it escapes as a little, disbelieving laugh. She drops the socks she was packing and tries to pull herself off the bed, feeling Mike’s arm wrap around her waist to stop her.

“Paige. Paige!” He successfully pulls her back onto the bed and runs a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

She doesn’t say anything but lets him guide her back until she’s laying on her side, facing him. Every part of her is stiff and tender, and it’s takes everything she has not to groan.

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I just want to know that you’re okay.”

“Fine.”

It’s clear that he doesn’t totally believe her, but he drops it and moves on, gently tracing the fading edge of the green on her jaw. “This looks like it’s finally getting better.”

“About time,” she grumbles. “It’s been almost three weeks.”

The alarm on his phone goes off, and Mike swears, throwing some last minute items in his bag before yanking the zipper shut.

“If I want to check in tonight, I need to go now.”

Paige nods and tucks her head into the spot between his shoulder and his cheek. He kisses the back of her head before brushing her hair away until he has access to the spot on the back of her neck. Smiling and rolling her eyes, she feel his lips gently soothing the spot he just nipped with his teeth _. At least he’s consistent..._

“Come on,” Johnny complains from the hallway. “At least close the freakin’ door.”

Mike looks at him oddly as he swings his bag up onto her his shoulder. Paige shakes her head. _Later_ , she mouths.

Over the past few weeks, it’s become evident that Johnny isn’t the biggest proponent of their relationship. Maybe once her life untangles itself, she’ll put in the effort to figure out why. Mike once suggested that it was jealousy, but the idea sent Paige careening of the bed in hysterical laughter, and he got the picture that anything like that was off the table.

Downstairs, Briggs and Charlie are waiting to see him off as well, so their goodbye isn’t what either of them wants. Mike sends Charlie a long look that Paige doesn’t quite understand the significance of until Charlie glances her way and nods. Paige rolls her eyes.

“Everything’s not going to fall apart here if you go do your job for a couple days,” Charlie scolds.

“Yeah, Mike,” Paige teases. “Go have fun with your deep tissue massage.”

Mike winks. “It’s better than the alternative.”

* * *

 Paige won’t drink anything he pours after what happened that night in his apartment, so if they want a drink, they have to meet in a bar before they go back to his place. Though he complains endlessly about the inconvenience, on some level, Enos appreciates that she’s being smart about it and doesn’t outright refuse.

Tonight they’re tucked into the corner booth, sitting on the same side with Paige between him and the window, pressed up against wall with his thigh practically on top of hers. The waitress delivers their drinks, and Enos smirks. “Better be careful,” he mocks. “That bartender looks a little shifty.”

Actually, the bartender is a nice guy that accepted her story about being a recovering alcoholic trying to save face without question. He’s been discreetly serving her virgin drinks, which makes her life a million times easier. But even still, that remark makes her stiffen. That kind of head game would have any one of his past non-federal-agent girlfriends paralyzed in fear. Holly Preston’s photograph feels hot against her heel, where it’s tucked in the bottom of her shoe.

She pointedly takes a long sip of her drink, almost draining it dry. “And yet, somehow, l still trust him more than you.”

With a tight smile, he shrugs. “I’m glad to see you’re still so spirited.”

“That’s not the impression I’ve been getting lately,” she snorts.

Luis snakes his arm around her waist, fingers slipping under her jacket and sweater to glide over the sensitive skin above the waistband of her jeans. His nails dig _hard,_ as his thumb presses what’s sure to be another bruise into her hip. A morbidly curious part of her wants to lift her shirt up to see if his fingers have instinctively fallen into the old marks they made or if they’re creating new ones.

“Sorry,” she says quietly. The pressure stops.

“Good girl,” he praises.

Paige feels like she might throw up.

Their waitress comes to refill her drink, and Luis eyes the pale stretch of her thighs, left bare by her skirt.

“You want to put your eyes back in your head before she stops serving us?”

He pinches some skin at her side and twists. “If you weren’t such a prude I wouldn’t have to look elsewhere.”

She shrugs. Honestly, she doubts that. But she knows better than to say so.

His lips press against her temple, and to anyone else in the bar, she’s sure they look like a sweet young couple. They don’t know that soon he’ll work his way down her face, until his lips are on Mike’s favorite spot behind her neck, and Paige will tense so tightly her neck will ache.

As expected, Luis slobbers his way to her neck in a disgusting public display of possession. But when he gets to Mike’s spot, he stops. She relaxes, until she feels his hand wrapping around the back of her neck.

“Get up,” he orders, dead quiet. He slides out of the booth and drags Paige with him. Instinctively, she struggles in his hold, until his fingers tighten and she stills in concern. Something’s wrong.

It the parking lot, he throws her against the wall, and her head slams against the brick.

“You bitch,” he hisses.

“What?” she asks, carefully stepping closer. “Luis, what’s wrong?”

He grabs her hair and yanks it away from her neck, tilting her head until she can see the reflection of her back in the metal of the dumpster. It’s dirty and hard to make out, but it’s there, red and raw. A love bite at the nape of her neck, left so gently that she didn’t know it was there.

Paige rips out of his hold and puts her hands out in surrender. “Luis…”

“No,” he yells. “Don’t talk to me. We’re done. You’re not worth this shit.”

_No. No, no…_

She reaches to catch his arm and keep him there, but he pushes her back against the wall and drives his fist into her eye. Once, twice, three times.

She’s on the ground, and he steps over her, pausing on his way to the car. “You don’t know what you lost,” he spits.

No, she really does.

* * *

 It’s hard not to feel like a teenager sneaking in after curfew when she returns to Graceland, but Paige does her best to shake off the feeling and hold her head high. The light is on in the kitchen, so at least someone is waiting up for her, and she takes a minute to think about who it might be. If she’s lucky, it’s Johnny or DJ. A desperate little part of her wants it to be Mike. She doesn’t care if that means his cover got ruined and they really are back to square one. Her face hurts- everything hurts – and it might all be for nothing. Mike can’t do anything about that, but she still wants to see him.

“That you Paige?”

_Shit_.

“Yeah, Paul.” Her voice shakes, and Paige breaks for the stairs, trying to buy herself some time. “Goodnight!”

“Wait,” he says, framed in the kitchen doorway. “You’re not going to tell me how it went?”

Had she been at least on the first step, she might have gone for it, but there, stuck to the floor in front of the staircase, it doesn’t feel like an option. Slowly, she turns to face him, chin resting against her shoulder. When she looks up, she can see Paul’s face pull back in surprise, tectonic plates floating away from each other, eyebrows high, eyes wide, and his mouth narrowed into an angry slit.

“Charlie!” he yells, stepping towards her. “Charlie!”

_Don’t wake her_ , she thinks, but Charlie might be the next best thing to Mike so she doesn’t say it out   loud.

Paul carefully prods at the bruising, feeling for the line of her bones, along her cheek to the loop around her eye, checking for breaks.

It hurts. It really hurts, but Paige screwed up and Enos isn’t going to jail and Holly Preston is still dead, so that’s probably good. She leans into his fingers, seeking more pressure, more pain, but Briggs mistakes it for seeking comfort and pulls her in for a hug. “It’s okay,” he soothes.

“It’s not.” She shakes her head. _It’s not okay_. She let Enos smack her around for more than a month, all for nothing. Why does he think that’s okay?

“Why is there yelling?” Charlie asks, sounding sleep-grouchy. She can feel Briggs lift his chin from where it was resting on top of her head and knows they’re exchanging looks about her. She hates it when they do that.

Charlie’s smaller hands are on her cheeks, turning her head sideways so it isn’t buried in Paul’s chest and the bruises are on display. She sucks in a rush of air, but quickly smiles woodenly and brushes a thumb along her cheek. “Ouch,” she whispers. “What happened here, huh?”

“I fell,” she says automatically. Why is she still lying? Does she think she can still fix this? Can she still fix it?

She definitely can’t fix it if Paul pulls the case.

“I fell,” she repeats, stronger now, pulling away from both of them. “Paul, I fell.”

“Bullshit,” he says firmly. “Paige, it’s done. It’s over.”

“No!”

He wavers for a just second, startled by her tone, and it’s just enough time for her tear up the stairs and slam the door to her room behind her.

Paige gnaws at her thumbnail, trying to figure out how long she has before Charlie comes to check on her. Not long. Minutes, less than five. She has to think fast. Has to fix this.

It’s so hot in here. How did it get so hot in here? She tampered with the air conditioning two weeks ago, to give herself an excuse to keep wearing these stupid sweaters. Suddenly, she’s suffocating in it and she tears it over her head, removing her tank top as well, but leaving her bra in place.

Her phone was in the pocket and she hears it hit the ground. Her phone. With shaking hands, she presses the code to unlock it and scrolls to find Enos’s contact.

She gets voicemail, he’s dodging her calls, but that’s okay.

“You deal drugs,” she says slowly, voice sounding dull and metallic to her own ears. “That’s your big, important job. You’re a drug dealer.”

Paige swallows. “I think you’re going to want to meet me. I don’t know what I’ll do otherwise. I don’t think you’ll like it, though.”

At least part was true. She drops the phone on the bed before sinking down next to it. Charlie comes in without knocking, holding an icepack in her hands. She freezes in the doorway, and it falls to the floor.

She heard. She must have heard, and that’s why she has that horrified look on her face. Why didn’t she stop it if she heard?

“Paige,” Charlie breathes, slowly bending to scoop up the icepack, like she’s afraid to make sudden movements. “How long-?”

_Huh?_

Oh. Her shirt is gone. Paige turns to look at herself in the mirror and shrugs. She’s pretty used to it by now, but it can probably be a bit of a shock if you’re not used to it. It’s why she won’t let Mike go as far as they both clearly want him to.

Her torso is colored, blue and red and green and yellow. Some black, those hurt the worst. Overlapping each other in that weird tissue paper way that makes it easy to make out all the colors and none of them at the same time.

_I look like Holly Preston_ , she thinks absently.

Charlie’s hands are on her shoulders now, trying to turn her to get a better look, but Paige can’t look away.


	7. Seven

Charlie has been trying to get her to roll over and have some kind of deep, meaningful conversation with her for the past half hour, but Paige is content to stay on her least bruised side, staring at her phone and swiping her thumb across the screen until the fingerprint smudges smooth into long streaks. Eventually Paige must do the unthinkable and out-stubborn Charlie DeMarco because she quits trying to engage her and settles on the bed behind her, holding the icepack to her eye with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

There's a cough from the hallway, and Charlie picks up Paige's hand and uses it to pin the icepack to her face before she goes to answer it. When she's gone, Paige sits up and slides to the end of the bed to get a better view. Paul is careful not to lean into the doorway and they keep their voices low, but glass doors aren't especially soundproofed, so she hears them as clearly as she would if they had the guts to talk about her to her face.

"Anything?" Paul asks gravely. It doesn't come out confident or teasing, and Paige startles, wondering if she's ever heard Paul's voice sound like that.

Charlie's shadow shakes its head. "Not a word. You get ahold of Mikey?"

"His phone's turned off. Left a message at the front desk. Couldn't say much to the receptionist, but if he gets it before we get there, he'll know we're coming for him at least. Have time to make his excuses."

"Mike should stay," she hollers from the bed, vaguely satisfied when the shadows jump. The door opens, and they both trail in, wearing matching variations on that infuriating sympathetic look Charlie's been giving her all night. Paige rolls her eyes.

"Mike should stay," she repeats firmly, dropping her legs from where they were folded against her chest and staring straight on. "We don't have Enos anymore. We're going to need his CI. Maybe with enough training we can push him up the ladder. Get him close and-"

"Paige, we'll get him," Paul interrupts, sitting backwards in her desk chair like some dorky substitute teacher trying to  _level with_ inner city kids. "I promise you, we're gonna regroup and then we're going at him full force, and we'll get him. But right now, Mike belongs here."

_With you_  goes unsaid, but Paige scowls anyway, feeling it in the air. She wants Mike there too. Wants it so badly that she almost skipped Graceland altogether and drove to rehab herself. But at the same time, she knows things aren't going to be the same. Knows that there's no chance in hell he's going to get a look at the damage that's been done and just let things be the same.

Besides, she's never needed Mike to do her damn job before and she's sure as hell not going to start now.

She's going to argue it further, throw out words like "interferance with a DEA investigation" and see if they land anywhere (unlikely), and maybe get a foot under the front legs of the chair Paul's tilting off the floor and send him sprawling on his ass because that's where she's at right now and it would be satisfying in ways she can't even count. But then her phone buzzes from under her thigh, sound distorted by the comforter, and she knows who it is before she even punches in her passcode. It isn't much, just a time and a place, but she knows that she'll never make it if Charlie and Briggs are hovering outside her door all night.

"It's Mike," she lies, trying to keep her cool even though there's a spark of energy running through her veins and it feels impossible to appear as defeated as she felt thirty seconds ago. "He wants to come home, but he needs someone to sign him out."

"I'll go," Paul offers, rubbing his hands over his closed eyes. When he opens them again, he looks relieved, like he's been waiting for an excuse to get away from crazy,  _fragile_  Paige and the watercolor hurt on her skin. "I checked him in."

Paige sighs, imagining her eyelids getting heavier and hoping she looks as tired as she's trying to. "Charlie, do you mind? He sounds so pissed, and I just...I don't feel..."

Stroking her shoulder one last time, Charlie nods. "Let me go get changed and then I'll tag along. See if I can keep these two hotheads from egging each other on."

When she goes, Briggs stays, and Paige is irritated until she's gets a good look at him and realizes how little he looks like the man with a plan right now. She's never seen him like this, not even when he was the one digging himself into a hole that she's still not sure how he got out of.

"I'm really not doing this to piss you off," he sighs, easing all four legs of his chair onto the ground. "If I can help it, the people in this house don't get hurt. This time, I could help it."

Part of her wants to make a smartass remark about it being too late for that, but an even larger part recognizes that she went to great lengths to make sure that happened. And a smaller, secret part of her is remembering why she respects Briggs so much to begin with. He really will do anything to protect them.

"I know," she says, quietly because she really doesn't want to say it.

Briggs must hear it loud and clear though because he perks up and chances giving her a smile that she doesn't return. "Listen, if you're looking for something new, there's a file on my nightstand. Another PCP dealer."

"My favorite," Paige grumbles. Paul grins.

"Yeah, I know. But this one's interesting. They're dissolving it into these green lollipops and pushing them that way. Caught the FBI's interest when some kid took one out of his dad's glove box and ended up in intensive care."

Paige scowls because  _son of a bitch people suck_ , but still doesn't put any serious thought into jumping straight back into the PCP market so soon after this darling, little drown in the deep end she's been enjoying. "That's great. Real responsible. Why haven't I heard of this guy?"

They hear thumping on the stairs that means Charlie's headed for the car, but Briggs hangs back and pats her knee before he stands. "Probably because your guy's about to put him out of business. His product's good, and no cares if it not as concealable as the competition if it'll give 'em a better trip."

She's silent for a minute, and Briggs must think he threw too much at her at once because he has that carefully unintimidating look back on his face, like he thinks she's much more traumatized than she really is. "But only when you're ready. You don't have to rush into anything. Got it?"

She nods without really looking at him.

"Anything you want me to pass on to Mike?"

"Yeah," Paige mumbles distractedly, wheels turning as her mind kicks into overdrive. "Tell him it's all under control."

* * *

The address turns out to be the office she staked out with Mike and Johnny a month ago, except it's much less crowded at night. The food truck is parked outside but closed for business, security gate closed and shiny in the dark, and she can just make out two of Enos's men leaning against the side. The cab drops her off a block away, with enough time to spare that Paige can spend a few minutes mapping escape routes and bodyguards to the best of her ability. It's not perfect, and there's still a chance that he'll kill her on sight, but hopefully he's concerned enough with plugging the supposed leak in his operation to try to figure out where she got her information.

Unsurprisingly, there's someone positioned at the entrance to pat her down before they'll let her into the building. She swapped out her DEA issued weapon for one of the less cop-ish handguns they keep on hand, and he finds it easily, tucked in the side of her waistband for lack of a better place. Before he can remove it, she claps her hand down over the gun, pressing the cool metal into her hip as his fingers try to pry her away. He gets a decent grip on her hand and twists violently, and Paige chokes on her breath as she hears a crack and feels a sharp pain in her wrist, temporarily masked by adrenaline but sure to hurt like a bitch as soon as it wears off.

"You don't really think I'm stupid enough to go in there unarmed? I'm sure your boss isn't," Paige says, panting slightly. "You think he can't handle himself? Want me to go in and tell him that?"

His face hardens, and his grip on her wrist loosens until it falls against her side, throbbing. He grunts and continues his pat down, pausing when he reaches her front, right pocket. "What's this?"

"Phone," she deadpans, slipping it out into the open. He lets her pass, and closes the door behind her. From the way the frame settles, she can tell he's leaning against the other side. All of a sudden, it seems like a lot to be trapped in the same building as Enos after what happened in the parking lot that evening, and she has to pause and take a breath. Once and for all, this is going to end tonight, whether it goes her way or not.

Enos is leaning against an empty desk in the middle of the room, looking exponentially calmer than the last time she saw him, which admittedly set the bar pretty low. She straightens her back and relaxes the muscles in her face as she approaches him. "I was surprised to hear from you," she says, smiling softly. "Thought I wasn't worth your time."

Mouth twisted into something that might be a pained attempt at his usual smirk, Enos steps into her space, getting close to her face and faltering when she doesn't back down. For the first time since she conned him into inviting her into his booth that first night, she's the one in control. They both know it, but Paige feels better knowing he has no idea who he's really dealing with.

"It seems you found a way to make yourself worthwhile," he admits. "So you think I'm a drug dealer?"

Paige forces a laugh. "You don't?"

"I'd be very interested in hearing how you arrived at that conclusion." Enos leans back against the desk, apparently unsatisfied with the results of intimidation and at least willing to hear her out.

From the inside pocket of her jacket, she slowly removes Holly Preston's photo and smoothes it out with her palms before she offers it to him. She feels cold –  _dirty_  – when she sees his fingers running over it, like her own have done every day for the past month. But it's almost worth it to see the color drain from his face.

"Recognize her, do you? Holly and I seem to have a lot in common."

"What is this?" he asks hoarsely, eyes still on the photo.

"Consider it a show of good faith," Paige says, enjoying this more than she should. Her heart is pounding, and her wrist is throbbing, but it feels like the rush undercover usually gives her when she isn't being shoved around by men like Enos. "Something to give you a little confidence in where I get my information."

Enos crumples the photo in his hand, and it takes everything she has not to snatch it back from him before he shoves it in his pocket. "What do you want?"

Paige grins.

"Twenty-five grand could keep a girl comfortable."

He nods, face hard, and nods towards his office. "I'll cut a check. But then I never see your face again."

"Nice," she hums. "But not what I meant. You're going to pay me in product."

He laughs, a little on the hysterical side, and stares at her in disbelief. "What the hell does a pharmaceutical sales rep want with twenty-five grand worth of my product?"

She hisses a mocking sigh through her teeth. " _Pharmaceutical sales rep_  may be a pretty title for what I really do. Turns out, I'm pretty important too." With her hand in her pocket, she strips off the wrapper with her thumb and makes sure Enos gets a good look at the green lollipop before she sticks it into her mouth, smirking around it. "Special, even."

" _Sonofabitch_!" His fist slams into a nearby filing cabinet, and she hears the cheap metal crunch and fold in around his hand. He pulls it out, bleeding and bent oddly, and Paige doesn't even try to hide her smile. "You were playing me."

"I was playing you," she confirms, winking. "You were bleeding my business dry, so I went looking for cracks in yours. Figured out that you have those nasty little temper tantrums every once in a while, and went digging from there. The rest was easy."

Her fingers slip into her pocket, and she holds a button on the phone until she feels it jolt. Stepping into  _his_  space for once, she sidles up next to him, pressing the front of her jeans to his hip.

"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to deliver on your end of the bargain by the end of business tomorrow. My dealers are going to put it back on the street with my mark on it until the market's just  _filthy_  with it. My reputation gets restored, and we never have to see each other again."

Paige pops the lollipop out of her mouth and aims it for where his jaw is hanging open, stunned. His teeth click as she uses her index finger to push his chin up, and his mouth seals around the candy.

"I don't keep that much in stock," he says finally.

Leaning up to whisper in his ear, Paige imagines every disgusting, demeaning thing he's said to her in the past month and grins. "Then you better get in the kitchen and start cooking."

Enos nods, and Paige steps back.

"Good boy."

* * *

When she's sitting on the high gurney in the ER, it takes all she has to keep from swinging her legs like a little girl. Her new cast is purple, which is her favorite color, and that's just the latest in the long string of things that have been coming up roses tonight. She studies the plaster as she waits for the nurse to bring her the pain meds she's almost definitely not going to take and stares at the phone in her hand, afraid to blink in case she misses something.

The curtain flies back, and Paige forces a sweet smile for the elderly nurse who's about to come in. But it's not pink scrubs that come into view, and the smile drops.

"Johnny," she says quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't even," he says, carefully cupping her face in his hands and tilting it up to face him. "Don't try that. What happened, P?"

She's working out how much of the truth she's willing to forfeit here when the curtain moves again. Paige frowns, confused. "You brought Jakes?"

Jakes scowls and pokes her forehead, far enough away from her black eye to make it more annoying than mean-spirited.

"Had to," Johnny confirms, wagging a finger between himself and DJ. "We're a search  _team_. Not a search 'you wait in the car.'"

_Search teams._  Not good.

A phone rings, and Paige jumps, scrambling for the one in her lap. It turns out to be Johnny's, and he gives her a strange look before accepting the call and putting it on speaker.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey Briggs," Johnny answers, ignoring Paige's frantic shushing motion and waving her off. "I got her. She's okay. We're headed home now."

" _Amen to that. How is she?"_

He holds the phone out like he wants her to take it, but Paige slides away and accidentally bumps into DJ, avoiding the phone like a poisonous snake. Johnny sighs. "She's good. Her wrist's busted, and her face is a little banged up."

" _He broke her wrist?"_

Johnny snorts. "Nice guy, huh?"

" _Yeah, a real class act."_

He leaves to take the call outside, and Jakes knocks into her shoulder with his. Her cast scrapes against his side and he backs up to take a better look at her. He rotates her cast in his hands, looking down like he can see through the plaster and skin to the damage underneath. "How bad?"

"I wasn't listening," she admits sheepishly.

"Course not," Jakes mutters, rolling his eyes before they catch on the phone she's flipping from hand to hand. "That's not your phone."

"Nope," she grins. "It's a clone. Of Luis Enos's. He's going to have to call in his entire manufacturing team tonight, and we're going to listen in."

As it turns out, Jakes doesn't want to hear another word about that situation and instead congratulates her on being not dead as they wait for Johnny to return. When he does, there's something in his posture that catches Paige's attention and has her jumping down off the gurney. "What's wrong?"

"Mikey took off. Paul said he was fine the whole way home, went into your room and took something out your desk, and just kind of… I don't know, lost it? Any idea what's going on there?"

"No," she says frowning. "The only thing in my desk drawer is…"

Her other copy of Enos's file. With the domestic battery complaints and the other picture of Holly Preston's marred body.

_Oh god._ And the real estate holdings she took from Enos's apartment.

_That idiot…_


	8. Eight

By the time the three of them walk through the front door, Johnny has a week's work of chores that says Briggs is going to kill her, and Jakes has another two riding on Charlie getting there first. They're definitely grumpy now because whereas Paige is full of nervous energy, this is the second manhunt of the night for the others, and now they're mostly just tired.

In the kitchen, Paul wraps an arm around her shoulders and gives her a little shake, careful not to press on anything too bruised. Paige nods at him, before untangling herself and slowly approaching Charlie, who's slouched over a cup of coffee and not looking at her.

"Charlie?"

"You conned me," Charlie says blankly. "You knew I'd do everything I could to keep you from leaving, so you conned me into going to pick up Mike."

Briggs reaches to put a hand on her shoulder, but Charlie jerks away. "Chuck…"

"No! Don't 'Chuck' me! Where the hell did everyone in this house get the idea that they have to do everything by themselves? Paige looks like she was hit be a freakin' truck, and Mike's off on a mission to bash some skulls in-"

"One skull," Johnny corrects quietly.

"- and I'm just sitting here, waiting for the rest of you reckless idiots to come home, wondering when we all stopped trusting each other!"

That's completely unfair, considering Charlie has been on the reckless idiot side herself plenty of times, but before she can say anything about it, Enos's cloned cell phone chirps from her pocket.

"What is it?" Paul asks.

"Enos. He's calling in his entire manufacturing operation tonight, and I just got the address."

Charlie tilts the screen so she can see too and frowns. "What? How?"

"I went in as a rival drug dealer and blackmailed him for more than he had on hand."

Silence.

Jakes snorts. "Right. You know, like people do."

"Okay," Charlie sighs. Elbows on the counter and hands laced behind her head, she takes a few deep breaths that blow her hair away from her face, giving them short glimpses of where her eyes are squeezed into thin, tired lines. "Okay." She stands. "Put this out of your head. We'll hunt Mike down, and he'll be here when you get back. Go. Go get your collar."

She should do it. She really should. After everything she's put into this case, she should be the one that gets to finally see the organization crumble out from underneath Luis Enos and watch him hit rock bottom, hopefully collecting a few bruises of his own on the way down.

Paige shakes her head. "I'd rather go get my idiot."

It's not the answer Charlie was expecting, and it reads all over her face. She looks at her oddly, like she's looking for the missing piece that will make this all seem less out of the blue, until Paige looks down at her cast, fiddling with the edge of the hardened plaster so she won't have to see her face when she figures it out. Finally, Charlie nods. "Yeah. I know that feeling."

"So you'll go? Keep an eye on things for me, make sure it gets done right?" And because it seems important all of a sudden, like Charlie might not know, she tacks on, "I want someone I trust there."

Maybe that's exactly what Charlie needed to hear from her because once it's said, she looks like she's back on even footing. Admittedly, she still looks a little unhinged, but they all probably do at this point, and Charlie unhinged is better than plenty of people at their best.

"We'll go," Charlie says, nodding to where Jakes is standing at her side. Jakes look perturbed to be volunteered for another unplanned, late night excursion, but he almost always looks like that, so Paige doesn't feel too badly for him. "You three, go find Mikey. And Paul?"

"Everything short of cuffing her to me," he promises. "She's only got the one arm, you know."

So much for trust.

* * *

 

Finding Mike had sounded easier when they weren't at the point in the plan where they actually had to do something about it. The property holdings from her desk drawer are gone, but Paige had saved the addresses on her phone a while ago, so if they can narrow them down, they'll at least know where to go. Because this whole thing is presumably just Mike, pushed an inch too far and out for blood, they can assume he's trying to track down Enos to make him pay for his sins.

Of the five buildings, one's already been seized by the DEA, and Charlie and Dale are headed to another to catch the manufacturers in the act, so they really only have three to worry about. They could probably each take one and knock the whole thing out in half an hour if Briggs wasn't taking his supervisory role so seriously at the moment. Johnny technically could have struck out on his own, but secretly Paige suspects he isn't all that determined to stop Mike before he gets to do some damage to Enos's face.

So they'll hit them one at a time, driving in uncomfortable silence that's only broken by the crackling of the police scanner installed in the dashboard in place of a CD player. Out of the corner of her eye, Paige sees Paul eyeing her cast before he looks back at the road and tightens his fists around the steering wheel.

"I'm not sorry," she says firmly, trying to cross her arms comfortably over her chest and wincing when the plaster scratches roughly across her collarbone.

"No," Paul sighs. "Course you're not. Who knows, maybe you shouldn't be."

She falters. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, sounding like he's ashamed of himself for meaning it. "I'm the last one that gets to have a problem with someone doing something a little unorthodox to get the job done. I might even be impressed."

"Turn here," Paige orders, staring out the window and lowering her eyes when she accidentally gets a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. "Thanks, Paul."

In the backseat, Johnny clears his throat and waves for her attention. "So like, are we gonna have a heart to heart or something? Just seems like everyone else…"

"Floor's yours, Johnny," she groans through a laugh. "Comments? Questions? Concerns?"

"You and Mike are gonna rip each other to shreds," he says without looking at her. "Someone's gonna get hurt, and someone's gonna leave."

Oh.

That's…

"No, we're not," Paige says awkwardly. "And no one's leaving, at least not because of…us."

Johnny shrugs. "Fine by me. Hey, isn't that the club your boy likes?"

It takes her a second to switch gears and figure out what he's talking about, which turns out to be the police scanner reporting on an armed man with a hostage outside a club.

"Yeah," Paige confirms. "That's the place you, me, and…no," she says when she sees the way they're looking at her. "It's not him."

Briggs changes directions anyway.

"It's not him," Paige repeats.

Of course it's him.

* * *

LAPD is already on the scene by the time they get there, and Paige has to take the well-meaning officer attempting a negotiation by the back of the shirt and yank him out of her way. Johnny,  _off all people_ , slips in to smooth things over, flashing his shield until the first responders yield to the feds and give them some room. She can see Mike now, wild-eyed and more than a little scraped up, but otherwise fine. But before she steps into his view, Briggs snags her by the upper arm and puts his mouth too close to her ear.

"Right now, I can probably spin this so Mike ends up on top," he says lowly, eyes on the police cruisers behind her. "But if Enos ends up dead, I'm not sure I can make that go away."

Something that might be a laugh builds in her throat and she releases it in a long huff. "He wouldn't want you to anyway."

Mike is stooped low, hissing something at Enos, who is mostly on the ground at this point, with his arm wrapped firmly around his throat. Paige winces and coughs, waiting until his head swings towards her to force a smile.

"Hi," she croaks, throat suddenly shriveling until it feels like it's almost closed.

Laughing like he can't quite believe she's really there, Mike nods, resigned. "Hi."

"That's a nice shiner," she says, holding back the teasing voice that says hers is  _nicer_ , which she thinks she would have said if they were back at the house, lounging in her bed like they should be. "Let me guess, I should see the other guy?"

She hears Mike snort as she turns her attention to where Enos is half-kneeling. "Hi, Luis. How've you been?"

"Fucking whore!" he spits.

"Charming," she sighs, wrinkling her nose while Mike's arm around his neck tightens until he sputters for slack. He's a little off-color when Mike finally relaxes, and Paige smiles, for real this time.

"So what's the plan, here? Rough him up a little? Make him apologize?" She leans against the dumpster, going to for casual to suck some of the tension out of the alley. "I'm pretty set on being the one to put the cuffs on him, but I'll let you bang his head off the squad car a couple times."

Mike shakes his head, dead serious. "I'm going to kill him."'

Paige nods patiently.

 _Okay_.

For the first time, her eyes catch on the weapon that she'd known was there but was trying not focus on. Frowning, she tilts her head to get a better look.

"Is that my gun?" she asks fondly, thinking of the DEA issued weapon she left in her locked desk drawer.

He nods, and she can see his shoulders start to loosen. "I wasn't trying to frame you or anything. It just seemed…"

"Poetic," Paige agrees. "Romantic, even." Then, laughing, "You big sap, you were going to kill him with my gun."

Enos makes a strangled choking sound that Paige takes as disgust and not actual choking, and she glares him into silence. When she looks back up, Mike is looking at her tightly, eyes strained and opened too widely, lips pursed against his teeth. She knows that look.

Shit, he's going to do it. The reckless idiot is actually going to do it.

"Mike-"

"I have to, Paige," he says desperately. "He told me…everything, and I just…"

The moment he says it, she can picture it clearly. Enos cornered in the alley, stupid enough to play mind games with the guy who has a gun on him. He would have tried to gain the upper hand, tried to throw Mike off balance by telling him how it felt to hear her ribs snap against the restaurant sink. Or how she looked after the botched drink spike, on the floor mopping up spilt wine with her jaw swelling and turning colors. That night at the bar, and finding Mike's mark on her neck…

She swallows.

"I'm not going to tell you why you can't do this because you already know," Paige says carefully. "Mike, you already know. You're just not thinking clearly."

"What makes you think I'm not thinking just as clearly as you are?"

"First of all, aim higher," she laughs, a little frantically. "And second, you're not  _you_  right now. Because you're hurting. Because you think I'm hurting."

" _Think_? Have you seen your face lately?"

Paige smiles. "You don't get it. He doesn't have that kind of power over me. I've been smacked around on the job so many times that it doesn't even register anymore. Yeah, he left some nasty bruises, and this eye's going to be a bitch to cover up until it heals, but he can't  _hurt_  me."

Sirens sound from a distance, and she almost swears. Hopefully, Johnny and Briggs managed to keep the LAPD officers from calling in back up, but even so, there's a good chance those are for them. Mike hears them too and stiffens, so she starts to talk faster.

"You can hurt me, Mike," she says firmly. "You kill him and get yourself locked up,  _that's_  going to hurt me. And I'm begging you…I can't right now…I just…"

He must be able to hear the strain in her voice because he tucks her gun in his waistband and his now empty hand absently waves towards her, like it's trying to comfort her on its own accord. Paige slumps against the dumpster and smiles, chuckling when Mike releases Enos and he collapses into the dirt.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, Mike is grinning warily at her, so focused on her that he doesn't notice Enos grabbing for the gun until it's already been yanked from his waistband.

But Paige does.

* * *

Her head is in Charlie's lap and her feet are buried in the sand, too close to the base of the fire. Just the way she likes it.

Johnny takes an exaggerated leap over her legs as he passes out the next round of s'mores, balanced four high on his palm, napkins serving as plates separating the layers. Charlie accepts hers and caps the marker she'd been using to doodle sprawling spiral patterns on Paige's cast so she can use both hands.

"Remember the rule," she says sternly. "No one looks at each other."

They'd ruled long ago that there was no way to eat a s'more cleanly, and it was most humane to just ignore each other and their chocolate stained faces until they got a chance to clean up. Paige is fairing especially poorly this time around, with one hand out of commission. She feels a string of marshmallow sticking to her cheek and frowns, staring down at her napkin, which is already covered in chocolate.

"Here," Mike says, holding out his own clean napkin. Somehow, he's managed to finish his s'more without getting a speck on him, face clean and smirking at her.

"I hate you," she growls, without fire. She uses his napkin to clean her face and sits up further, leaning back against the rocks.

Jakes finishes his mouthful of beer and shakes his head. "Don't listen to her, Levi. She  _did_  shoot someone for you last night. She must like you some."

"No," Briggs corrects loudly. "Agent Arkin used lethal force when Luis Enos threatened her personal safety. It would be frowned upon if she shot a hostage going after his attacker."

Frowning, Johnny shakes his head, somehow managing to look serious despite being unashamedly covered in chocolate. "Even if the 'attacker' was an undercover agent holding him for arrest until the feds got there? Or whatever bullshit you fed the bureau?"

Sighing, Paul takes a swig of his beer and rubs his eyes. "I don't know. Just don't ever make me do that much paperwork ever again."

"I don't know what you're complaining about. At least you didn't have to process the smoking remains of entire organization. Twelve arrests just for manufacturing, plus the equipment and product we seized," Paige complains.

"You loved it," Charlie snorts, bumping her shoulder against Paige's.

Her face flushes (from the fire, obviously) and she smiles.

She really did.

She meant to write her final report before turning in that night, but the warmth from the fire and Mike's hand on her waist mixes with the beer in her hand and the painkillers she shouldn't have taken before drinking that beer, and soon she's asleep in the sand.

When she wakes up, she's propped against Mike's side, but the others are gone. The fire is still going, but just barely, and they'll have to head in soon, before it gets too cool.

Mike must feel her shifting because his hand tightens around her knee and his thumb runs lines across her thigh.

"Were you going to wake me when you went in, or was I going to get carried away by the tide?"

He snorts and moves out from behind her so they're sitting side-by-side. "I have something for you."

From the pocket of his sweatshirt, he pulls out a crumpled paper and presses it into her hand. Paige looks down at Holly Preston's face and uses the tips of her fingers sticking out from her cast to smooth it flat. "How-?"

"I took it from his personal effects," he says awkwardly. "I figured you wouldn't want him to have it."

She nods, awed. "Thank you."

"We got him," she says softly, leaning forward on her heels to gently settle the picture into the fire.  _Time to let go._

Maybe she'd go looking for a picture of Holly from before Enos got to her. That would be nice to have.

Mike nods, but from the look on his face, she can tell he's thinking about something else.

Sighing, Paige leans back against the boulder and drops her head into her hands. "It feels like there's something we should talk about, but I'm not sure what it is."

"Like something's wrong, but you can't put a finger on what?" he confirms. She hums her agreement, and the conversation slows to a silence, but they can both tell it isn't over.

"I guess my thing is just…" Mike says finally. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Briggs was going to get me pulled off the case. I couldn't tell  _anyone_."

His eyes roll back in his head, and while he's not looking, she kicks at the sand in frustration, childishly satisfied when some sails into the fire.

"Would that have been so terrible?" he asks.

"Yes!" she hisses, turning to look him in the eye. "It was my case, Mike! Just because no one else got why it was so important-"

"I didn't mean that," he defends. "I get it. I know it was important. But…it feels like you weren't willing to risk your case, but…because of the lying…"

"That I was willing to risk us?"

"Yeah."

That sits there for a minute because while she knows it's not true, she's not sure how to explain it.

"I guess," she says slowly, "It never felt like I was going to lose you. I knew it was going to cause problems, but I never thought…It just felt like we were stronger than that."

There it is.

The fire is low now, and she wishes her arms were covered by more than the thin straps of her tank top. The boulder behind her is cold against her skin and she leans forwards to hunch over her knees. Mike's warm hand cups her shoulder and pulls her against his chest.

"We are," he promises.

Paige smiles.

Later, when the fire's out completely, and they're sitting in the dark with a beach towel wrapped around them to take the chill off, she snorts to herself and says, "Johnny thinks we're going to rip each other to shreds."

"What do you think?" Mike asks, voice rumbling in his chest, sending goosebumps down her arm, starting from where her ear is pressed against his ribs.

She shrugs. "I don't know. He could be right. I think…you weren't yourself last night. With Enos. I've never seen you so out of control. That's not like you."

"True," he admits, shifting so they can look at each other. "I've never been that angry before, and it had a lot to do with…how I feel about you. But it all worked out. You talked me down."

"I guess so."

"So you'll keep being the one that can talk me down," he says hesitantly. "And maybe I can be the one you tell when you feel like you can't tell anyone else?"

There's a deep bruise on her leg from a date with Enos the week before, and for some reason, it stands out even more in the dark. It hurts, like everything is starting to now that her painkillers are wearing off, but before she can reach for it, Mike's fingers are already there, rubbing gently.

"Yeah," she whispers. "That sounds nice."

**Author's Note:**

> Doesn't really fit into the season two timeline, so we're gonna call it AUish, taking place after season one if Mike hasn't gone back to DC. This was originally all jammed into a chapter of Dynamic, but then I was stuck on whether or not to play around with Mike/Paige and the tone was just too serious to match the others. So now we're going to take things slow and spread it out into a long one.


End file.
